POV
by mak5258
Summary: Events following SR from different points of view. Better than this summary, I promise!
1. Through the Eyes of a Photographer

I became a photographer for a reason. I see the world around me differently than others; I always look for the best angle to capture the subject in my frame, whether it be a person or a place. This view had led to a few rather remarkable revelations, one of such concerning my best friend, the man I'd thought was a simple guy from a small town trying to make it in the big city. I couldn't have been more wrong, or more right, really, about Clark Kent.

It had occurred to me one day when I was taking random shots around the office, as I've always done. It was less than a week after the whole New Krypton fiasco, Superman had yet to make more than a few saves, and those had been only the most extreme, and Clark was looking under the weather, which was unusual for Clark. The globe atop the _Daily Planet_ building was in the process of being fixed, as was the lobby plaza and the rest of the city.

I had enough pictures of the destruction around town to not have to go out in the rain, so I was enjoying my digital camera around the bullpen. It made a good scrapbook for the annual Christmas party. It was remarkable, really, what can be seen in those pictures. I've been at the _Planet_ for a long time and captured a lot of relationships, friendships or romances, in all stages through those photos. I always paid special attention to Lois, she had great eyes and skin for photographs even in the intense lighting of the bullpen, and she and Clark looked so good together, almost as good as their articles did on the front page.

Turning in my chair, I'd focused the camera and snapped a picture of the first person I saw and captured a moment I never would've seen coming. Clark Kent was sitting back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him, his face stoic, just staring out the window with such incredible sadness. It wasn't an unusual posture for people of late; everybody was feeling a little down to see the city in such a state, but this was _Clark Kent_. Clark had to be the happiest person on the planet. He was the thing keeping most of the rest of the _Planet_ going, still giving goofy waves and smiling every so often at the jokes that weren't funny just to lighten the mood. Clark was also single-handedly bringing in half the material the paper was printing these days; most of the other reporters just weren't in the mood to write anything good, Lois excluded; she had turned in "Why the World Needs Superman" the day it had become public knowledge Superman had disappeared from the hospital and people were already talking about giving her another Pulitzer for it. I got a picture of Clark's face when she handed the article to him for proofing the evening before it appeared in the paper; it was definitely more of a 'Clark' face than the one I was looking at now.

To see Clark sitting like that, even for a moment, said something about his true character that even I, his best friend, had never noticed. Clark wasn't the goofy, oblivious, naïve guy everybody thought him to be. I stared at the picture on the tiny view screen, puzzled. There was something familiar in the posture and expression, but I couldn't place it. Maybe it was just the fact that it looked so un-Clark-like that made it seem like he was channeling somebody else in that moment.

I looked up again and he had turned around, looking at the bullpen. His hands were still in front of him, his face so serious, so worried for our welfare, eyes searching the faces in front of him to see who he would need to trip in front of and make self-deprecating jokes to. His eyes fell on me and his face caught itself up in a smile so sincere that I almost forgot how serious he had looked a moment before. He gave a casual wave and turned back to his computer, fingers flying over the keys with the speed Perry had hired him for all those years ago.

I looked back down at the picture on the camera in my lap and at the man with slouching posture typing away. They weren't even the same person. One had the weight of the world on his shoulders, the other… well, he looked like he had come in to work with the flu but was working through it with a 'brave soldier' face. Who knew Clark Kent cared and did so much for us all? Lois, I realized. Lois knew just how much Clark was doing for everybody.

There was something different in their relationship since he'd come back from his trip around the world. But Clark was different too, and so was Lois. They'd been very close friends, best friends really. They were practically attached at the hip in the three years they'd spent working together before he left, barely speaking when they had conversations because they knew what the other was going to say after only a few words. He'd left and Lois had withdrawn, she hadn't let anybody in except for Perry, who'd decided she needed a date. That probably hadn't been the best idea. She'd all but stopped speaking to him too. About a month after Clark's disappearance everything had changed. She'd agreed to let Perry set her up and had been with Richard ever since; it was that week, as well, that "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman" had run in the _Planet_.

I understood some of her depression, then. The two closest men in her life had left her. Her best friend and partner had put in his notice and left to see the world and days later the world had realized that Superman had really vanished. Crime had spiked, organized crime had sky rocketed, and Lois Lane had written a piece that screamed 'woman scorned,' but the world didn't see that. They were just as angry at Superman as she was. I was the only one who realized that she was pouring her anger at Clark into the piece as well.

Jason was born eight months later, premature. Richard had been ecstatic and so had Lois, but she didn't seem to be sharing the happiness with Richard, her smile wasn't as wide when he was around, but she pretended it was. There was something strange with Jason's reaction to Richard, as well. He would wail horrendously whenever Richard tried to hold him. Nobody mentioned it, and Richard laughed it off, but everybody noticed it. One look at the boy's eyes told me all I needed to know. They were Clark's eyes, cerulean blue in that way that only a Kansas farmboy can inherit from his father's time laboring under the sky. That was all the explanation I needed for the boy's wails; he wanted his real father, not the imposter who's shoulders weren't quite as wide and whose eyes weren't quite as blue. Richard didn't notice, and it was his name that went down on the birth certificate. I didn't say anything because Lois didn't say anything, not even Perry said anything and I know he noticed it just as much as I did.

Lois seemed to move on after that. Her writing improved after she returned from maternity leave. She filled all her spare time with little Jason. She lived with Richard and was engaged to him, but I caught her more than once staring at a small framed picture of her old partner who had disappeared off the face of the planet. I'd asked her about him once and she had been very quiet before changing the subject. She _never_ talked about him.

The pair of them were so close after all those years, it was amazing. She hadn't forgiven him for disappearing easily. Perry paired them up right away, knowing he'd be a fool not to, but it took the New Krypton fiasco to pull them out of their past and get them looking at the future. Something about seeing Superman almost die seemed to have reminded them what it had been like when they were apart and made them want to not keep each other at a distance.

I had laughed out loud when I'd seen Richard's face the first time Lois and Clark had started acting like Lois and Clark again. It was only a day ago, Lois had brought Clark his coffee while she talked a mile a minute about why Superman should continue to keep away until the kryptonite was completely cleaned out of the harbor, how he should be resting. Clark only got one or two words into his counterpoint before Lois had already guessed the rest of it and was responding. Richard's mouth had hung open; not only had he never seen or thought of Clark as a guy who _would_ talk back to Lois, but a guy who _could_ talk back to her. Even Richard couldn't talk back to Lois. In all my years of watching Lois, only Clark has ever even come close to matching her, and winning a few of their confrontations from time to time as well. Not even Perry. Richard had learned to live with Lois' headstrong ideas, stepping back when she was following a story and sometimes following along to make sure she was safe, but Clark- Clark was actually able to talk her out of things. It was a miracle in itself. Unfortunately, there was definitely some jealousy on Richard's part when it came to the friend Lois hadn't spoken of since he'd left.

Just another layer on Clark Kent.

I should probably stop staring at him now.

Lois brought him coffee, she's got her hand on his shoulder, reading his screen. I snap a picture of them like that. It's almost as though he'd never left, as though they're working on their latest Luthor expose, which they are, but this time there isn't a sunny day with shining glass and steel buildings outside the window behind them. This time its raining in heavy wet sheets, the buildings behind are broken, the windows on a few shattered from Superman's quick speeds as he passed on his way to saving people as the city all but crumbled around them. There's a Superman-sized hole in Perry's office window where Superman shot out to grab the globe before it squished said editor-in-chief. The thing is patched with plastic and duct tape, billowing every now and then and making the chief irritable.

I'm staring at Lois and Clark again. Damn.

- - - Three days later - - -

I need a good picture of Superman for the front page again. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a picture of that guy these days? Not only is he still a scarce commodity, but when he is around it just doesn't seem right to take his picture. He looks so tired. The kryptonite is still being painstakingly dredged out of the harbor but, according to his interview with Lois, he can't feel it; one good thing among many bad things.

The city is still being repaired, the hospital is still full of wounded people, but at least there haven't been any deaths. Superman made sure of that even though it almost cost him his life. Lois was sure to point that out in her article from last week.

Back to the picture I need: he's never still. He's always flying away, or flying in, or lifting something, or pulling someone to their feet, or dropping the _Daily Planet_ globe back in place. Great action shots, mind you, but I wish I could just get one of him standing there taking it all in. The public need to see a facial expression, something like what I saw on Clark three days ago would be great.

Clark hasn't slipped up in his little façade since. He's all smiles and waves and tripping on his feet. Lois has started laughing, lightly chuckling really, at him again, meaning she's doing a little better. She seems tense though, and I know Clark has noticed too. Like when I visited Lois in the hospital after Jason's birth with Perry, though I haven't mentioned it to Clark. Lois needs to think that other people don't notice these things for her to stay strong herself, or at least for her to tell herself she's being strong. Jason seems to have noticed too, though, and, surprisingly enough, he's been going to Clark about it, not Richard or anybody else.

The boy seems to _know_ who his dad really is. They connected on the first day Clark got back. Jason walked right up to him and instigated conversation, which, in turn, got he and Lois talking again when she came looking for her son. They would've gotten over everything a lot sooner if Richard hadn't come up in the middle of that conversation.

"Dad," I hear Jason whisper and look around for the boy or Richard, wondering what they're doing so close to my desk. My jaw nearly drops when I see who Jason is talking to.

Clark Kent is turned around in his chair, eyes only for Jason, a curious look on his face. Jason and Clark know their relationship, which means Lois talked to them. Which means Lois talked to Richard? I don't think so. Richard certainly wouldn't let Perry keep Lois and Clark together as work partners if he knew Jason's true parentage.

"Yes?" Clark responds just as quietly as Jason asked. I look out the window to one side of them so that if one of them happens to glance up and see me watching them they'll think I'm looking there instead of focusing on the peripheral.

"Will you come visit me again tonight?" He asks in that little voice, his face has the same worried lines I saw on Clark's three days ago. Actually, Clark's worried lines are back now; he knows why the boy wants him to come and visit and he doesn't seem to like it.

"Jason…" he seems uncertain.

"I don't like listening to them yelling alone," Jason says even quieter. I can barely hear it from where I am three desks away.

"I'll come, Jason," Clark picks the boy up and wraps him in his arms. Jason has fists full of his father's neatly pressed shirt, tears that I hadn't noticed getting on the coffee-stained tie. "I'm sorry."

"Why can't we live with you?" Jason asks and I roll slightly closer so I can hear Clark's response. "You're nice to Mom, and you… you talk to me," Clark's arms tighten around the boy.

"I'm sorry, Jason. I'm so sorry," his voice is deeper than it usually is, full of pain and sorrow I didn't think a kid from Kansas could have in him. "We'll talk to Mom tonight, I promise."

"Okay," Jason nods into Clark's shirt, his grip relaxing. They sit there like that; Clark has again turned to face the window. I'm not sure if he just wants to look out the window, or if he moved purposely so that nobody in the room can tell that his wide frame is hiding his distraught son. I can see his reflection, he has that look again. The one that says he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and now I understand it a bit more.

Minutes pass, and Jason seems to have fallen asleep. Clark's hand traces a soothing pattern on the boy's back as he stares out at the city, not seeing me watching him. Lois comes over a second later, panicked about her missing son.

"Clark, have you seen…?"

"Sh," Clark interrupts quietly and she falls silent instantly, her face softening to see the pair of them peacefully together. He shifts so Jason is more upright in his arms, the boy obviously completely out. "Lois, he asked me to come over again," Lois' face fell. "He said he didn't want to have to listen to Richard yelling alone."

"Clark, he… we-"

"Lois, I-" he stops too and they just look at each other for a moment.

"He hasn't hurt us, either of us," she says in a placating tone. "He's just upset."

"And he has every right to be, but yelling, scaring Jason enough to crawl into my lap at work…"

"I didn't know Jason could hear that, he only yells after Jason's in bed, after he gets the wine out," her frown deepens.

"He's getting drunk?! Lois…" He's using that deep voice again that isn't quite his, it has more confidence and authority, but Lois either hasn't noticed or isn't bothered by it.

"Not drunk, exactly, just… loosening his tongue, I guess."

"That's not what I'd call a loosened tongue, Lois-"

"You've been listening in?" She almost sounded accusing but I couldn't figure out how he could be listening in.

"Of course I have, 'Lo, ever since Jason," he sighs and looks back out over the city. I'm left sitting there in their silence wondering when he started calling her 'Lo. I heard her father call her that and Gil Tracy decided it was a good nickname but he got decked for it, had to have reconstructive surgery on his left cheek bone. Not even Richard calls her 'Lo and he's her fiancé, but I guess he's not quite as close to the inside as everyone, including himself, thought. "I know I said I'd give you space but I can't help but keep watch… it's kind of what I do."

"What you need to do is sleep so you can get back up, even Perry is worried and if I can tell that Perry's worried, you're worse than you think."

"I'm fine, Lois, and we're not talking about me," there's a twinkle in his eye and Lois shoots him a look for not letting her change the subject.

"I'm just not sure what to do, Clark," she sighs, leaning against his desk and joining him in looking out the window. Somehow I get the impression that they can't look each other in the eye when having this conversation even though I've come to see them as the two strongest people I know. "He's a good man, I can't just leave him, but… he's not himself."

"I don't want him to hurt you, Lois."

"Like you'd ever let it get that far."

"You're right," he was smirking back. "But I don't want to tempt it."

"What are you suggesting?" Clark fell silent, his gaze still trained out on the city and the rain that continued to pour down on us. I caught myself thinking of Superman and how the rain couldn't be helping his recovery; at least Clark was back to his normal, healthy self.

"Jason asked me why you and he couldn't live with me," he said softly. I only caught a few of the words, but I knew what he was saying.

"You got an apartment?" Lois sounded surprised and I was just confused.

"Yeah, it's got a great hole in the wall, but…" he rolled his eyes, "Makes it easy to get in and out if you catch my drift."

They share a smile and a laugh. I don't get it, whatever it is. I turned back to my desk in a hurry when I see them focus on the glass to check the reflections. The only thing on the desk was my camera. That other side of Clark is showing through again, he's serious and calm, he's always been a little different around Lois, but I always assumed it was because he was trying harder to impress her. Obviously that worked, since Jason's here. But who knows with Clark? I used to think I did, but that's obviously not the case. Is he even my friend or was that part of the deception? Act like a geek, be friends with the biggest geek in the bullpen. I don't know Clark as well as I thought I did, but I doubt he could be so different that he would use somebody like that.

I need an excuse to look back at them. I pick up the camera and start pointing it around the room, eventually making my way into a position where I can hear their conversation without looking at them; a disadvantage, but oh well. They seem to have just finished checking for other ears because the conversation is right where I left it.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I've got to sleep somewhere."

"I wasn't sure you really slept."

Okay, what does that mean?

"Not as much as some people, and its more of a mental thing than a physical thing, but still," I could hear the careful shrug as he tried to emphasize his words without waking Jason. "It isn't very big, Lois, but we would all fit. We could find another place after everything settles a bit."

"You'd really be willing to take us in like that?"

"Of course I would!" He sounds appalled that she would think otherwise. "Lois, this whole situation is my fault, if I hadn't have left… you know that if I had known I'd never have left."

"I know," the answer is quiet and I have to fight the urge to turn around to see their expressions.

"I'll do whatever you let me."

"He's usually out by eleven, the wine…" Lois gulped loudly behind me. "You can take Jason to your place after we tuck him in, come back and pack after Richard…" There's a rustle of clothing and I know Clark is touching her in some comforting way that only he seems to be able to manage for her.

"It's going to be alright, 'Lo," he says gently and I let myself turn around under the pretense of getting pictures from that angle. Neither notice as I snap the shot, already focusing another on a strange reflection to their left when they turn. They seem to think it's alright, that I haven't noticed anything, but they should know that I would never tell anybody any of what they said or did.

"Hey," I say when I 'notice' they're looking at me. "Jason having a long day?"

"Oh, um, yeah, I guess," Clark stammers, his voice rising to its usual pitch. Or is it the deeper pitch that's the real usual? I think so; otherwise he would stay with the higher pitch when he talks to Lois.

"Can I get a picture of him?" I ask. I really just want a legitimate picture of father and son together. I don't give them a chance to respond, bringing the digital up to my face and focusing on Jason. "I'll get prints for you sometime this week, if you want."

Lois just nods before taking Jason from Clark and walking towards her desk. She gets her coat and scarf, wrapping Jason in his own rain slicker in his sleep before heading towards the elevators. I know if I turned around Clark would be following her with his eyes just like me.

Two more pictures from the mystery. The first is of that comforting, forbidden touch. Lois is leaning against Clark's desk and Clark is turned in his chair to face her, Jason's head lying peacefully across his shoulder. His face is a mask of happy slumber on the broad, warm expanse below his cheek, his hair messy and poking out at odd angles like Clark's does every day. Clark's hair is actually lying flatter than usual these days, probably because of the constant rain matting it down everytime he goes out. His left hand is wrapped over his son's back, his right in holding Lois' hand to his lips. Her eyes are closed, taking in the comfort that nobody in the bullpen but I am seeing. I can see in the faces of the two Lanes just how comfortable and safe Clark makes them feel and I can't help but see why. He's just as comfortable with them, and he has that presence that he never lets through, you can feel it through the picture itself.

"OLSEN!" I jump when my name rings across the bullpen. My eyes flash to Clark's as they always do, the two dorks in the office sharing a moment of worry about what went wrong now. I get halfway across the bullpen before I realize my camera is still in my hand with that forbidden picture on the display screen.

"Yeah, chief?" I ask, closing the door behind me and standing nervously in front of the big desk, the camera having been turned off quickly on the way over. Old issues of the _Planet_ are spread across the desk, potential layouts, new stories, pictures of his wife and his sister, an old picture I took of Richard and Lois usually in a frame closest to the door is missing.

"Let me see that camera of yours," he says. I freeze for a moment before handing it over. There's nothing incriminating on there, just out of character. There's that picture of Clark from three days ago, the two I just took, a couple of Jason that make it quite obvious who his real father is, that strange reflection in the window behind Lois and Clark that I haven't quite worked out what it is yet.

"I haven't got anything new, but… I got some great shots from around the bullpen," I say, hoping he's not looking for some amazing shot of Superman or firemen being heroic or something. The rain has kept me in the office for days; I've organized the old photos in the archives, made a couple dozen pots of coffee, organized the photos on my hard drive, taken enough pictures to fill up another hard drive… in short, I've been bored and stuck inside because of the rain. This is how I got into photography, actually; my mom bought me a camera to keep myself entertained while I was sick, and I wasn't the healthiest kid. I got pretty good at it and now here I am.

Perry turns the camera on and starts flicking through my pictures. The camera is tilted just right so that I can see them just well enough to know which he's looking at. The first on the memory card is a shot of the rain against the window behind Clark's desk. Clark desk isn't in the shot, just the rain against the glass and the still damaged building outside getting tarps taped down. The next is Perry pacing his office looking concerned about something. The next dozen are of random people around the office; sitting and working at their desks, watching the TVs as the next Superman update is broadcast, arguing about the spelling of dactylology, breaking out of the human brick that is the elevator in the morning. These interspersed with pictures of Jason that I've taken; he's a very willing subject because he's been almost as bored as I have trapped in the office this past week. Then there's the picture of Clark; the one where he's looking so solemn and un-Clark-like; Perry glances at me and then glances out the window at Clark, who is preparing to leave. He stares at it for a moment and then flips to the next one. A handful pass by without much notice, these mostly of Jason as well. Then there's the one I just took. Perry's mouth doesn't exactly fall open, but he's gaping at it.

"What is this, Jimmy?" Perry held the camera up so I could see better.

"It's, um, a picture… I took," I stutter, not sure if I should be trying to excuse Clark's actions after what I heard prior to the moment captured on my memory card. I just pray he won't delete it; it's a very nice picture I'd like to give to Clark someday. "Right before you called me in here, actually."

Perry looks out over the bullpen and finds both Lois and Clark gone. Richard is sitting in his office looking frustrated. "That's not what I meant, Olsen," he practically growls.

"I'm not sure, Chief, I just turned around and snapped a picture and that's what I got," I try to sound nonchalant but I know he doesn't buy it. Perry's too good a reporter and editor-in-chief to buy my tone. I'm almost as bad a liar as Clark.

"You're telling me that you were sitting three desks away and you didn't hear what they were saying? What are you doing working at a paper if you're going to zone out on what's right in front of you?" He looks up from the picture just long enough to glare at me.

"They were talking about a conversation Jason and Clark had about Richard," I admit. Like I said, I'm a bad liar, and he'd just get mad at me if I tried.

"Richard?" He's still glaring.

"Yeah, um, Chief, I don't think I should be talking about it, I was kind of eavesdropping and it was a private thing, and he's your nephew…" He held up a hand as if he were brushing away my protests.

"I know Richard and Lois don't have the happiest home situation right now, Olsen," he sighs, glancing at the spot on his desk where the frame used to rest so quickly that I almost miss it.

"Well, I- "

"Olsen," definitely some warning in his voice I should probably listen to for the sake of my job.

"I think Jason is Clark's son," I say in a rush and aren't surprised when he just nods, telling me that my observation of him wasn't incorrect when we visited the hospital all those years ago. "He just crawled up into Clark's lap, I was surprised, I didn't think either of them knew it…" he nods again. "He said Lois and Richard were fighting a lot at night when they thought he was asleep. He said he wanted Clark to come by tonight and comfort him, or something. Then he fell asleep and Lois came over looking for Jason and they talked for awhile… She's planning on leaving Richard tonight, she and Jason will go and stay with Clark."

"Good," Perry mutters just loud enough so I can hear it; I look at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. He sighs before saying anything. "I've been aware of tension between them since Kentcame back," he sighed. I still wait. "I knew Jason was Kent's- you noticed, too," I nod. "They were always close, Lois and Kent, no matter how much both of them denied it. Richard never knew Kent existed, except for what you told him and the pictures at Christmas… this was inevitable, I just wish my nephew wasn't the one getting burned, that he would be a bit more _gracious_ about it… he's been buying a lot of wine."

I stare at him. This is by far the longest conversation I have ever had with my boss. It's usually gruff, impersonal, orders about the where and when for photos, complaints that this or that shot isn't what he wanted. Now he's telling me about his nephew's, his closest relative and a mutual acquaintance, broken relationship. All over a photograph.

"How much do you know about Clark, Chief?" I find myself asking, thinking back to that first photograph three days ago.

"What?"

"Well, just," I take the camera and flip it back to that other photo and hand the camera to him. "That's _not _Clark."

He contemplates the photo for a moment before looking back at me. "Clark Kent is a complicated man," he says slowly. I wish I could read people better. Usually I'm not that bad, but Perry White is a whole new ballgame. "He sees more than he lets on, knows more," he chuckled. "He's scooped Lois dozens of times and she doesn't even know it."

"I think she might."

"What?"

"Just- the conversation just before I took that picture. She seemed to know exactly who he is, you know, beyond the geek façade."

"Interesting."

Our insightful conversation ended then, with Richard throwing the door open and glaring at us. I clear my throat to break Perry out of his thoughts and it works.

"Olsen, I want a copy of that last one for myself," he barks. "The rest you can work into this year's Christmas album."

"Yes, sir," I say, grabbing my camera back and practically running out the door.

I have no idea what the pair of them talked about after I left, but neither was happy when the conversation was over. I passed the time emptying the memory card into my hard drive and sending the good ones to my email account.

- - -

I can't sleep when I get home that night. All I can think about is what Lois and Clark are doing as I sit in front of my TV eating my Chinese takeout and looking at the printouts of the photos.

I've been working on the Christmas album pretty much since last Christmas. Since Clark just got back I figure I'll make a review of the past five years, throw in a couple from before even that just to give Richard a hard time. I'm not thinking of him too highly at the moment; Lois is my friend and doesn't deserve to be treated the way he's been treating her, especially not with Jason, who happens to be the son of my two best friends, I realize.

I can't help but get lost in these old photos. The older ones, from before Clark left, are the best. It's before everything was so complicated, before Superman and before Richard. The first Christmas party's album from nine years ago, the first one with Clark in it, is downright hilarious. Clark had only been at the _Planet_ for about four months and he was already smitten with Lois. At that point she hadn't seen the real Clark yet, I guess. They already had a comfortable banter at that point, but they're just friends. They can be seen joking, pushing each others buttons; Clark never knew to back down from Lois, which probably was the first sign of his deeper character. In one shot, Clark obviously just shot Lois down with some witty comment nobody expected to hear from him; the surrounding office members are gaping at him, Lois is looking somewhere between scandalized and amused, and the photo is slightly out of focus because of my laughter. More shots like that through the second album with the addition of those smiles that give a glimpse at a deeper attraction hidden beneath the surface.

Looking at them, I can almost see Clark's hidden character in all of them, but not quite. He looks like he has a secret, like he's hiding something from the world, and according to the pictographic evidence I recently acquired I know its there. I can't figure out this newest angle on him; it's so confusing. He's there for the first two-thirds of the fourth album since his arrival, but then he's gone. The pictures of Lois aren't so happy after that, and then she's showing early signs of pregnancy. Then Richard joins the club. Lois looks sadly happy, if that's possible, in photos with the man who would come to be Jason's father. Five albums without Clark, but with a growing Jason. Lois is smiling real smiles again, some of them, but not most, directed at Richard. And now I get to put Clark in the album again.

Don't get me wrong, there are other people and their developing relationships recorded in these pictures. It's just that Lois and Clark have been the two I've concentrated on since they met. They make sure a cute pair, and now they've got Jason. I'm smiling as I look at these photos.

Now I've got this new photo, concrete evidence of their relationship. But there's _no way_ I'm putting it in the office album. They wanted it to be a secret from even me, their friend; I won't be outing them. I doubt Perry will either. He'll probably talk to Clark about it, make sure he's got Lois' best in mind. He cares for her like a daughter, though he'd never admit it. That's another thing I'll be avoiding admitting to him.

- - - Two Days Later - - -

I've made glossy 8 X 10's of the secret pictures requested of me. I left Perry's on his desk inside a folder. He gave me a 'significant' glance when I dropped it off on my way out; he was talking to Richard again and couldn't exactly have a look at it. Richard looked sad all day, and Lois hadn't shown up for work. Perry said he'd gotten a phone call, and Clark was in, so nothing could be too wrong. Clark was jumpier than usual; having to take off his tie and throw it away after it absorbed nearly half his morning coffee.

I waited till the afternoon to give Clark the prints I'd made for him and Lois, but he left before I could catch him, which would be why I'm in a taxi headed to his apartment. One of his comforting gesture, the one I'd had their consent to take with Jason asleep on Clark's lap and Lois watching carefully over his shoulder, and a few 5 X 7's of the photos I'd taken of Jason throughout the week. I'd included one of Lois biting her pen and looking up at me, I'd interrupted her contemplation of the front page Superman article she'd written and the paper was bent over to give us a view of the top of his black-and-white printed forehead. She was smiling around the pen in her mouth.

I'm at his door, number 4E, and knocking before I'm aware. I don't know what I'm going to say. What if Lois opens the door? Should I even pretend to be surprised that she's there? What if they aren't home? That'd be good, actually; I wouldn't have to think of what to say.

Crap they're opening the door.

"Jason! Hey, buddy," I say, seeing the little boy holding the door slightly ajar for me to see in. Clark comes up behind him wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. The dark of the t-shirt and his hair throws his eyes into sharp relief. He looks different out of the too-big suit and ugly tie he usually wears. He fits that more serious personality he displayed better like this.

"Jimmy!" He seems honestly surprised.

"Hey, Clark, sorry to just drop in like this," I try and look apologetic but I can't help but be interested to see what Clark's life is like outside work now that he's back. "You ran out before I could give you that print I made," I hold up the folder I've got the prints in, hoping he'll invite me in instead of take the folder and say goodbye.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he pauses. "C'mon in, I don't think you've been here since I got the new place… there's a hole in the wall but I've got a lovely tarp."

"No, it's been kind of a busy week," I smile. "Can't believe you've only been back a week. It seems like a lot longer than that."

"What a week to come back, eh?" Lois says, coming out of the bathroom. She's dressed down, too, something I've never seen outside of the hospital visits following Jason's birth, but I've sworn to have forgotten that entirely: well-worn bootleg jeans worn through in one knee, an overlarge sweatshirt from Iowa State, probably Clark's, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. It's weird to see them like this, the three of them looking almost like a family relaxed together for an evening. Clark's apartment is a lot like the old on; walls lined with plain bookshelves loaded with colorfully bound books, WWII posters, foreign film posters in different languages, a lumpy green sofa that looks incredibly comfortable pulled up against a worn out coffee table that had been in his old apartment, the coffee table is loaded with Jason's crayon drawings of Superman. There's a stack of pillows and blankets next to the couch, meaning Clark probably sleeps there and lets Lois and Jason use his bedroom. That's Clark for you.

"Yeah," I say with a light laugh. "Can't believe our luck, though… you brought Superman with you just in time."

They both tense slightly and I haven't the slightest idea why. Jason doesn't notice the tension, and Clark is the first to recover, laughing lightly. Lois just looks nervous. "Yes, see that's where I _really_ was," he smiles. "I went to Krypton and got Superman back," we're both smiling. Lois is looking at Clark like he's crazy. Jason's coloring another picture.

"So what, um, what did you say you brought by?" Lois asks, sitting back on the couch and not looking relaxed at all.

"Oh, I brought that photo over because Clark took off so quick today," I hand her the folder a bit nervously. "You feeling okay, Lois, you didn't come in…?" I know the answer, but…

"Oh, um, yeah I'm fine," she shrugs. "I talked to Perry, just needed a day off."

"You deserve it," I say. She just smiles and opens the folder.

"Oh, Jason, look! It's you," she holds up the 5 X 7 and shows it to him. He smiles Clark's smile and takes the picture to bring over to Clark. They seem more like a family than ever.

"My nose looks funny," he comments and Clark laughs gently.

"Your nose is just fine," Clark assured him, and Jason made a face at the photo, poking his nose, and set it next to the drawing he was working on. "Want something to drink, Jimmy?"

"Uh, sure."

"There's water, milk, lemonade, or orange juice, I think," Clark walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"I'll have some water, I think."

"Alright."

Lois tensed up when she got to that one photo, looking at me with worry in her eyes. I felt myself blush, not able to quite meet her eyes.

"Jimmy…?"

"I might've been a little closer than you thought on that one," I mumble. She looks worried, like I might run off and tell the world that she hasn't been completely honest with them, but then I think about it. Richard thought he was Jason's biological father, but with just one look Perry and I both knew it was Clark's son lying in her arms.

"I, uh," Lois stammered, reminding me of Clark. Speaking of Clark, he's standing behind Lois looking at the picture. I grab the glass of water from his hand before he breaks the poor plastic cup.

"Perry and I always kind of… suspected," I say lamely, taking a gulp of the water and gesturing to the photograph.

"You…" Clark trails off; I can't believe the unbalance I see in his eyes. He isn't even remembering to use his higher pitched voice.

"Really?" Lois asks, handing the photo back to Clark and flipping through the others. "Why didn't you say something?"

"We thought you might tell us on your own terms," I shrug and they both look kind of guilty. "That shot was just too perfect not to capture, though," they both smile, obviously agreeing with me.

"Jimmy…" Lois started, but I shook my head.

"I should get going," I heard myself saying, though I _did_ kind of want to know what they would say. "Just, uh, know that the Chief's got a copy of that picture too, and, uh, I'm here if you need anything."

"Thanks, Jimmy," Clark said in that not-so-unfamiliar baritone again. I just shrug and smile, and hand him back the half downed glass of water before heading to the door and letting myself out.


	2. Through the Eyes of an Editor

There has always been something different about Clark Kent. I noticed it on the day he came into my office looking for a job. His personality doesn't match up with his intelligence or his writing style. Nobody else noticed this, of course. I'm the editor-in-chief of an internationally acclaimed newspaper, I _have_ to notice these things… if I ever stop noticing them, I'll know it's time to retire.

As it is, I can't believe how long this weird vibe I always got from Kent didn't properly register. I didn't catch on until he disappeared. He worked for me for four years, partnered with Lois Lane, the pair of them writing the best damn articles this paper has seen in years, and I couldn't figure it out. Every now and again I would see a crack in his façade. He would drop the goofy smile and actually smile a real smile. He would say something intelligent and worthwhile when I called him into my office hoping he wouldn't say something dumb. Or I'd see him step to the side to purposefully run into the filing cabinet.

I can't believe Lois never picked up on it. Of course, five years ago, right before he left, I think she was catching on. I think that had something to do with _why_ he left. One minute they're kissing off to the side of the bullpen, the next they're back at their desks. Lois didn't seem to notice anything amiss, but Kent was in agony for weeks and then he was gone.

Then Superman was gone too.

That's what confirmed it for me. Kent has the same height and build of Superman, his hair is the same color and falls in the same pattern when he's not paying attention, and I _know_ he's masking the pitch of his voice because he's used the deep baritone usual to the Man of Steel on the phone when he's trying to be more intimidating. It works too. Wish I'd had that trick up _my_ sleeve when I was on the beat.

And now he's back.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

I almost didn't give him his job back for what he did to Lois. But- Norm Polmer died at just the right time, and despite his alien heritage he's a quick typist and a remarkable writer. If he hadn't left he would've had a Pulitzer too, I'm sure of it. Now I'm glad I gave him it back, though; he's practically carrying the paper through this rough patch.

Now, I've seen rough patches before, and this is the roughest of them all. Hell, there's a hole in the outer wall of my office. I've got a tarp flapping in the wind despite the tape. Freaking tarp is driving me insane.

No need to fear, though, Superman is here!

Kent is back in full swing. He's tripping over himself, ruining his ties (which are ugly enough _without_ the coffee stains), managing to make self-deprecating jokes with that forced stutter of his… Basically, he's putting smiles on everybody's faces. I've even caught myself smiling at his antics. Besides that, he's putting his superspeed to good use; he's kicked out more articles in the last week than he did in an entire year before he left. They're all front page-worthy, too. Now if we could just get him to stand still in that primary colored suit of his long enough for Jimmy to get a decent picture of him to accompany those articles. This isn't the first time and it probably won't be the last that I've thought about telling him I know who he is just so that I can chew him out a bit about the lack of photos.

He's slipped again, I notice, when I look out at the bullpen to make sure there's still enough activity not to start bellowing at people. My throat is sore today, anyway; yesterday was a particularly lethargic day, and the damn tarp. Kent is sitting there contemplating the bullpen with his hands steepled in front of him, not an uncommon pose for myself. It's a good thinking pose. I wonder what goes through his super-human head. He's so different from us and yet very much alike. I've never had a conversation with the real him, though, just the Clark Kent persona he uses at the office; until I have a real conversation I won't chance a guess at the complexities of his mind. Jimmy's noticed this slip, I'm pretty sure he caught a picture of it. I'll have to get him in here and get a copy of it. Not today, though- my throat.

Jimmy's always been a pretty decent photographer, especially when it comes to Superman. Even lately when all Kent ever does it rush back to the office after a save, Jimmy's managed to get some great action shots. I'll have to kill him if he thinks about taking the job the _Metropolis Star_ has been offering him for years. I don't think I have to worry about loosing him, though; he likes the people here. It's evident in those Christmas albums he makes every year. They follow the people in the office, their lives; especially Lois and Kent. Hopefully Lois and Kent won't take those jobs offered by the _Star_ either.

I'm over-thinking this. I haven't worried about people leaving since Lois gave birth to Kent's child. She knew it just as well as I did, though she didn't realize that I was aware. I could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at Richard; he thought Jason was his, but she knew differently and it was killing her. I don't think she knew it was Kent's, though; I think she thought it was Superman's. They're the same person, of course, but she didn't realize it then. I substituted Kent's name for Superman's in "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman" and that helped; I can't believe he didn't tell her who he really is before they made a child together. That seems to be cleared between them now, though; she was angry beyond belief for about a day after Kent got out of the hospital (more like fled the hospital, but who knows?) but they seem to have talked. She's even bringing him coffee now. I just wish she'd tone down the not-so-subtle hints about staying away from kryptonite. Somebody else, like Jimmy, might catch on. Jimmy was the only other person that realized that Jason isn't Richard's son; he realized Jason was Kent's, though, not Superman's. This brings the whole multiple personalities thing to a whole new level, if you ask me.

Back to people leaving, though. After Jason was born I was sure she would leave. Leave the _Daily Planet_, leave Richard, leave Metropolis. She looked like she'd like to run as far away as she could possibly get. I even caught her down in archives after she'd returned from maternity leave; she was looking through old Superman articles she had written. I'm not sure what she was looking for, and I probably will never know, but she was crying. I think the only reason she didn't leave was because she wanted to be busy, and she liked being busy as a journalist. That and Superman would be looking for her at the _Daily Planet_ if and when he returned. He also happens to work here, which helps.

I don't know what they said to each other, but things seem to be back to normal between Lois and Kent. At least, as normal as those two can be these days. She just brought him coffee and they're debating that piece I assigned them yesterday. Don't ask me what it was, I'll remember it when I need to. Today they get off easy, my damned throat. And this damned tarp! It's driving me insane.

- - - Three days later - - -

Lois turned in another great Superman exclusive this morning. _That's_ what I assigned the pair of them a couple of days ago. I'm not sure how they work it, but I think Lois gives Kent a lot of say in what goes into her Superman pieces. I understand why. They're both very concerned about his image- pretty much confirms my suspicion about Lois knowing Kent wears blue tights beneath that too-big three-piece suit of his.

Kent hasn't slipped up since that last time I saw him pondering us three days ago. Or at least not that I've noticed. I know I don't see _everything_, but I like to pretend to; it helps keep these bloodthirsty reporters in line. But now he's slipping again, and I certainly don't blame him. Jason is on his lap and they're talking. I, of course, can't hear what they're saying. I think this calls for a coffee run.

Lois has joined the two Kent boys when I make it within earshot with my coffee. At this point, I'm pretty sure Jason knows who his real dad is. He seemed drawn to Kent on the first day they met, and he started hyperventilating when they came face to face. There was a shot of Superman on the TV screen directly behind Kent, though, so maybe Jason just recognized what the adults in the bullpen fail to see and had an attack. Who knows?

"Jason asked me why you and he couldn't live with me," Kent was saying as I passed by as slowly as possible. I pretend to look over Gil's shoulder as I listen.

"You got an apartment?" Lois sounded surprised.

"Yeah, it's got a great hole in the wall, but…" I glance up from Gil's article to see Kent roll his eyes. "Makes it easy to get in and out if you catch my drift."

They share a smile and laugh. Jimmy looks completely confused and focused his camera on the reflections in the glass, one of them being me, to look like he hadn't been listening. I can see that Kent knows better, but I'm back in my office before they start talking, knowing that if I don't keep moving Kent will know that I was listening as well. Though I'm allowed to do that because I'm their boss, Kent is Superman and I think he deserves a small, very small, amount of personal space. I've already crossed the line by realizing that he's not just an awkward guy from a small town. Someday I know I'll get sick of this dance and just give him crap about it, but, until then, I'm gonna drink this coffee sitting down in my nice leather chair.

Out in the bullpen Jimmy's taking more photos, having smoothed over the wrinkle with Lois and Kent alright. Good thing my throat's feeling fine today.

"OLSEN!" I bellow, fighting back a grin when the photographer jumps. Jimmy and Kent exchange a glance before Jimmy comes into the office, taking his sweet time coming across the bullpen.

"Yeah, Chief?"

Don't call me Chief.

"Let me see that camera of yours," I say, trying not to sound too threatening. He freezes up before handing it to me, probably because he's got some pictures of Kent acting more Superman-like than he's comfortable with. Jimmy doesn't know what to call the mystery that Kent embodies, but he knows its there, and he knows its private.

"I haven't got anything new, but… I got some great shots from around the bullpen," Jimmy manages nervously. He probably thinks I'm after the new Superman shots. Little does he know that he's got gold right there on that memory card.

I take the camera and look through the pictures. He's a good photographer even when he's not taking important, front page pictures. He's good at getting people, capturing their personalities in the shots. It helped confirm my suspicions about Kent, too; the photos of Superman and the photos in the Christmas album of Kent show the same character in a few select shots. It's amazing, really.

The tarp is flapping again. Damn the thing. Jimmy doesn't even seem to notice.

The first on the memory card is a shot of the rain against the window behind Kent's desk. Kent's desk isn't in the shot, just the rain against the glass and the still damaged building outside getting tarps taped down. The next is me pacing my office looking concerned about something. I don't remember what I was thinking about when that picture was taken, hell, I don't remembering giving him the okay to take pictures of me. The next dozen are of random people around the office; sitting and working at their desks, watching the TVs as the next Superman update is broadcast, arguing about the spelling of some word I'll probably cross out for the final edition anyway, breaking out of the human brick that is the elevator in the morning. These interspersed with pictures of Jason that he's taken; the boy is a very willing subject because he's been almost as bored as Jimmy's been as they've been trapped in the office this past week. Then there's the picture of Kent; the one where he's looking so solemn and un-Clark-like; I glance up at Jimmy and then through the glass at Clark, who is preparing to leave. I don't want to pause too long on this picture, give Jimmy time to think about it, though I know he will anyway. Maybe if Kent weren't right outside my office I'd talk to Jimmy about it. He's a nice enough kid, if a bit naïve from time to time. The next handful of photos aren't that spectacular, mostly of Jason. He's a cute kid.

Then I get to the picture Jimmy took right before I called him in. The one of Lois and Kent and Jason all together looking like a little family. _That _is a look into the secret life of Superman, if there ever was one; my jaw goes a little slack looking at it, it's a touching moment between the three of them. Lois trusts Kent so perfectly, and Jason has never looked more at peace. I only wish my nephew could be the one putting them at such ease; Kent deserves this moment, though.

"What is this, Jimmy?" I ask, holding the camera up so he can see which picture I'm talking about, though I'm sure he already knows. He always knows which pictures are where on his cameras, and he _did_ just take this one.

"It's, um, a picture… I took," he stutters uncertainly. "Right before you called me in here, actually."

Looking over the bullpen I notice that Lois and Kent are both gone. Richard is still in his office, though, frustrated about something. I couldn't tell you what, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Lois and Kent, or maybe just Jason. He still loves Lois, and he doesn't know Kent well enough to be able to properly hate him. He can resent Jason, though. I always hoped it would never came to that. "That's not what I meant, Olsen," I growl without meaning to, thinking about Richard's home life doesn't exactly bring out the best in me lately.

"I'm not sure, Chief, I just turned around and snapped a picture and that's what I got," he says stiffly. Good, that means he heard something of the conversation he doesn't think Lois and Kent would want other people to know about. Luckily, I'm the boss.

"You're telling me that you were sitting three desks away and you didn't hear what they were saying? What are you doing working at a paper if you're going to zone out on what's right in front of you?" I give him a glare that I perfected on Lois in her early days, back when she fought tooth and nail about everything single little thing concerning her assignments. Not that she doesn't argue with me about the articles I assign her; she just knows when to fight it and when not to now.

"They were talking about a conversation Jason and Clark had about Richard," he admits. I almost smile but catch myself and continue glaring. The kid couldn't lie if his life depended on it, at least he knows better than to try it on me.

"Richard?"

"Yeah, um, Chief, I don't think I should be talking about it, I was kind of eavesdropping and it was a private thing, and he's your nephew…" I brush off the protest with a wave of my hand; I've got more dirt on the little soap opera happening under our noses than this kid does, and I need to know as much about it as possible if I want to be of use to any of them.

"I know Richard and Lois don't have the happiest home situation right now, Olsen," I sigh, glancing at the spot on my desk where the frame used to rest quickly. I took the picture of Lois, Richard and Jason together as a family home right after Kent came back to the bullpen after he left the hospital. That was when it was clear Richard and Lois weren't going to be so good together. They didn't know it then, though. They thought they could keep up their happy little façade. Hell, I don't think Richard even realized Lois was staring at Kent across the bullpen for hours every day. I noticed, though, and I got rid of the picture. Richard might be my nephew, but sons need their fathers, _especially_ when you're the son of Superman. Lois wouldn't talk, but I got the impression that something happened on that boat that linked Jason and Superman together irrevocably in her mind; something big enough to have her confront him on it and for him to come clean about everything to her after hearing it. I can't help but be curious about what traits Jason has inherited from his father, if any at all. But I doubt they'd tell me if I asked. Maybe I should get Kent in here to chew him out about the lack of photos and then I'll ask him about Jason. I'll complain about the hole he put in my wall, too, and the noise this tarp makes. Now's not the time, though- Kent is already gone, in Mongolia according to CNN.

"Well, I- "

"Olsen," I warn; no _way _he's lying to me about this.

"I think Jason is Clark's son," he says in a rush. I just nod and I see that he understands that I know a bit about Kent's relation to Jason. He also affirms that he doesn't know that Kent is Superman. "He just crawled up into Clark's lap, I was surprised, I didn't think either of them knew it…" I nod again. "He said Lois and Richard were fighting a lot at night when they thought he was asleep. He said he wanted Clark to come by tonight and comfort him, or something. Then he fell asleep and Lois came over looking for Jason and they talked for awhile… She's planning on leaving Richard tonight, she and Jason will go and stay with Clark."

"Good," I mutter just loud enough so he can hear it, and he looks at me for some sort of explanation. He seems confused about the whole coming and visiting part, but I won't tell him that Kent can just fly up to Jason's window and step inside whenever he wants to visit his son. This does mean, though, that Jason knows that Kent and Superman are the same person and that he's his father. I sigh before wording my explanation. "I've been aware of tension between them since Kent came back," Jimmy just waits for more. "I knew Jason was Kent's- you noticed, too," he nods. "They were always close, Lois and Kent, no matter how much both of them denied it. Richard never knew Kent existed, except for what you told him and the pictures at Christmas… this was inevitable, I just wish my nephew wasn't the one getting burned, that he would be a bit more _gracious_ about it… he's been buying a lot of wine."

Jimmy is staring. The poor kid is probably worried about having this long of a conversation with me or something ridiculous like that. This is kind of an important topic, though, and Jimmy is the only other person in the bullpen who cares enough about Lois and Kent to notice. He's the only one I would trust to keep my observations a secret, too. Richard is my closest relative. My sister's son. She died when he was a teenager and he ended up doing an involuntary summer internship here while he stayed with me. I didn't raise him, by any means, I just took care of him during the summer holidays of his high school years because his dad couldn't bring him to the firm during the day and didn't want him lazing around the house causing trouble. Richard is a good guy. He's had kind of a messed up life, but he pulled through. He doesn't deserve this hurt, but I really, honestly, don't think Lois is the woman for him. I've watched them together for these past five years and it's just not the same. He doesn't understand Lois the way Kent, or even Jimmy, does. She's a tough woman and he drives her crazy when he pampers her; his dad always pampered his mom like that but she loved it. Lois Lane is not my sister, though. I don't think she'll ever be happy with him, and therefore, he'll never be happy with her. The photograph on Jimmy's memory card is proof of that; Kent shouldn't be able to make her look that safe by just kissing the back of her hand. Of course, it's not fair to compare Richard to Superman. Or for Richard to have to compete with Superman.

"How much do you know about Clark, Chief?" Jimmy asks, glancing down at the camera..

"What?"

"Well, just," he takes the camera and flips through to the photo of Kent contemplating the office that was taken three days ago, "that's _not _Clark."

"Clark Kent is a complicated man," I say slowly after looking at the photo. He's trying to read me, I can tell, but I'm a great poker player, and I've been a reporter my entire adult life. Kent's secrets are safe in the lines of my weathered face. "He sees more than he lets on, knows more," I say, chuckling at a memory. "He's scooped Lois dozens of times and she doesn't even know it."

"I think she might."

"What?"

"Just- the conversation just before I took that picture. She seemed to know exactly who he is, you know, beyond the geek façade."

"Interesting," I hadn't realized that Jimmy knew that Lois realized how complicated Kent is. She knows he's Superman, and she's okay with it, and Jimmy can tell. I wonder how long it will be before Jimmy figures the rest of this secret out.

Richard chose that moment to throw the door to my office open and glare at the pair of us. He can't have heard what we were talking about, but he's probably been sitting in his office simmering since Kent left the building; waiting for Jimmy to leave so that he can whine to me about his failing betrothal. I love him like a son, but I can only take so much; I'm not a shrink, nor am I paid to act as one. Hell, I'm paying _him_ to do his job, not bang in here for personal chats every time Lois and Kent are out of the office at the same time. "Olsen, I want a copy of that last one for myself," I bark, ignoring Richard for the moment. "The rest you can work into this year's Christmas album."

"Yes, sir," he says, grabbing the camera and running for his desk.

Now it's just me and my nephew. My distraught nephew. "What is it, Richard?" I ask calmly.

"Did you know?" He asks, accusing. He's leaning over my desk on his fists, glaring down into my eyes. I've used the same stance to intimidate people before, but it just doesn't work for him. It might help that I'm older than he is and have never been easily intimidated. That and I can always order him out of my office and back to work if it comes to that.

"Did I know what, Richard?" I ask, my voice still calm and even.

"Did you know about Lois and Clark?" His voice is low, his words coming out slow and measured. He'd like to yell at me, probably, but he knows better.

"What do you mean?" I ask, knowing it's probably not a good idea to provoke him but doing it anyways.

"Did you know they were romantically involved?" The word 'romantically' seems to cause him physical pain to say.

"Not until I saw Jason," I reply honestly.

"What?" He hisses.

"His eyes. Jason has Kent's eyes," I'm looking at the photo of Jason I keep on my desk. It's his kindergarten picture and he looks positively exuberant, his smile wide and dopey like that of his father, his otherworldly cerulean eyes practically glowing with excitement.

"Why didn't you say something?" He hisses again, his shoulders aren't quite as set as they had been when he first entered the room. He really doesn't want to hear this, but he needs to.

"Kent was gone, Richard," I say, not soothingly, but close enough. "_You_ are Jason's father."

"Not according to Jason," Richard practically spits, his shoulders stiffening again.

"Why would he think that?" Richard is silent and I get the impression that whatever reason Jason has for refusing Richard as his father was Richard's fault.

Before I can think of another thing to say to Richard that would suit the situation, Richard is in his own office gathering his things to leave for the evening. Sighing, I turn back to the layout issues, trying to fit all of Lois and Kent's article on the front page and still have room for the one good still shot of Superman Jimmy got last weekend. I think Kent might have heard me telling Jimmy, rather sharply if I do say so myself, that we needed good shots of Superman observing the damage, looking like a hero but not necessarily acting the hero at the moment. It's a great photo. One I'm sure Martha Kent will cut out of the paper and paste on the fridge. I've never met Kent's mother, but I've heard him tell Jimmy stories about her; she seems like the kind of woman who would cut pictures of her son out of the paper even if she couldn't tell her guests that its her son plastered on her fridge, not a Superman infatuation.

- - - Two days later

It took two days for Richard to brave my office again.

He spent yesterday mostly in silence. Lois called in early in the morning yesterday and told me she couldn't face Richard, apologizing for the awful family dynamic. I understood her completely, even urged her to take as much time as she needed. She still hasn't come in and I don't blame her. Kent, however, came into my office and told me he was working with her by email on their reconstruction piece. I just nodded, hoping that their writing style didn't suffer from the distance, or, if what Jimmy said was true true, the added perspective of living together.

"Why did you continue to pair them up when you could see what was happening?" Richard asks, sounding so broken. I can't blame him. Yesterday he woke up with a hangover and found Lois' engagement ring on the kitchen counter with a note that simply said 'goodbye.' Lois and Jason's things were gone, no clothes, no personal trinkets. Just Richard's things, and Jason's bed minus the Batman sheets. I know this because I followed Richard home last night to make sure he was alright and found the house in the exact same condition.

Today he isn't drunk, and he doesn't have a hangover. He's smart enough to know that the wine is part of what drove her away.

"Have you read any of their work, Richard?" I ask, keeping my voice level and calm; placating. "Their writing styles compliment each other. They practically finish each others' sentences when they speak and it's even better when they write it down and tweak it together…. They make a good team. I would be a fool to break them up over an office romance gone sour."

"Uncle Perry…" he starts and I know my face gets a little darker. Adding 'uncle' means he's getting desperate, reminding me we're family.

Jimmy interrupts quietly, poking his head in for just long enough to put a folder on my desk and duck out. I make eye contact; he's given me the photo of Lois and Kent and of Kent looking like Superman that I asked for. Could he not have waited five minutes and done it when Richard was gone? Now Richard is going to be curious.

"Richard," I say, cutting him off. "I know this is hard on you. I know you don't deserve this, but…" I sigh. I don't want to have to say these things to him. He really _doesn't_ deserve to have his life go down the toilet like this. "I don't think Lois was the right woman for you," I hold up a hand to stop the protest that he opens his mouth to give. "I know you were very close for a long time, but I never got the impression that you two were," I take a moment to inhale again, "inseparable the way Lois and Kent are. You weren't around during the first part of their relationship. They were inseparable. Their writing complimented each other. Their personalities complimented each other. Hell, Kent is the only one I've ever seen render Lois speechless," I couldn't help but smile at that, remembering the first time it happened and the stunned look on Lois' face.

"I can't believe you're saying this," Richard says, his voice hitching in his throat. "We were together for _five years_, Uncle Perry. We raised Jason together. We were going to be _married_," he shakes his head. "If you thought all these things _why_ _didn't you say something_?"

"You were good together, Richard. I don't know what went wrong, but something did in this past week. I don't know if it was Kent coming back, or if it was the way you reacted to Kent coming back, but it happened," I look at the folder Jimmy gave me, contemplating showing him the photo inside of Kent consoling Lois while Jason sleeps on his chest. No, I decide. It would break him. "I agree, I _should've_ told you that I didn't think Jason was your son, but that doesn't matter now."

"Do you think I can get her back?"

"No, I don't," I say and I can see his heart breaking, his face falling. "Lois has changed in these past few years, Richard. She lives for her son. She never used to be connected to anybody, but you gave her a taste of family and she got hooked. Even though she's not hooked to you anymore, she's still hooked to her son. I don't know what you did to drive Jason from you, and I know it hurts you now, but Lois won't come back to you unless you can fix that."

"I don't think I can," Richard whispers. I can barely hear him. I just nod and he leaves.

I look out over the bullpen after Richard is gone, my eyes meeting Kent's. He listened to the conversation. I'm surprised to find that I don't mind. He's looking at me very seriously, contemplating me; it feels like he's looking right through me, into my soul or something; or maybe actually physically through me. Of course, that is a possibility. I'll never really know, though, because he came back to himself then and gave a goofy smile and a little wave before turning back to his computer. I just shake my head and go back to looking at the pictures Jimmy just dropped off.


	3. Through the Eyes of a Boy

This is so cool. Superman is my dad. I don't think he knows that I know, though; I pretended to be asleep when he came in my room because I didn't know what to say to him. Then he started talking. This is so cool.

I guess I have three daddies, now. Richard White is the daddy that I live with; the one that everybody thinks is my real dad. Superman is the daddy only mommy knows about, and Mr. Clark is the daddy only I know about. Or maybe mommy knows about him being my daddy too. She's really smart.

This is so cool. I like Superman, and I like Mr. Clark. He's funny. And he has cool ties, even though they always smell like coffee. If he comes back tomorrow night, I'll tell him that I know who he is.

"Goodnight!" I call out the window when he leaves. He turns back, smiling, then he looks down at the lawn. Mom is down there, holding her cigarettes and lighter. She was supposed to not smoke anymore. Maybe _he'll_ get her to stop for real. Daddy never could. I wonder where Daddy is. He's missing Superman!

Wow, Mom's so lucky. Superman is taking her flying and she's not even being rescued. I wonder if he'll take me sometime. I wonder if someday I'll be able to fly, too, because he's my dad. I'll ask mom. She knows everything. If she doesn't know, I'll ask Superman because he probably knows even more than mom. He's from a different planet, after all.

- - -

I get out of bed; I have to find Daddy to tell him about Superman taking Mom flying two nights ago. He came by to talk to her last night, too, but I didn't listen to what they said. She's so lucky. I wonder if Superman ever takes Daddy flying. Probably not. Dad can fly in his seaplane whenever he wants to. They probably wave at each other. That would be cool.

Dad's out by the fire pit. It's glowing orange with the flames. It's just a small fire, like when he doesn't want mom to notice he's burning something, or doesn't want to disturb the neighbors or something.

"Hi Daddy," I say, climbing up onto the lawn chair just behind him. He gets mad when I get too close to the fire even though it doesn't hurt. I even touched the fire on a candle once when nobody was looking. It was at Christmastime last year. Nobody likes to leave me alone by things like candles because they're afraid I'll get hurt, and I know it can hurt people, but it looked so cool. So I stuck my finger in it. I could tell it was warm. It wasn't a _comfortable_ feeling, but it didn't hurt. Mom came in then and I jumped so my finger was above the fire like I was roasting it and she got mad at me. I tried to explain that I couldn't feel it, that it didn't hurt, but she didn't believe me. She blew all the candles in the house out and made me sit in the very corner of the kids' table for dinner. I hate the kids' table, and I hate sitting at the corners of the table. My elbow always falls off the side.

"Jason," he says, surprised to see me. "What're you doing out of bed?"

"I woke up," I say, shrugging. "Two nights ago, Superman was there, he said goodnight. Then he took Mommy flying. He came and said goodnight last night, too. I didn't see him tonight, though," I tell him with a smile. He doesn't smile back. I think he thinks I'm telling him about a dream. He usually smiles anyways, though, like grown-ups do. "What're you doing?"

"You should be in bed, Jason," he says. He sounds grumpy.

"Do you like Superman?" I ask him, trying to make him happier. People always like talking about Superman.

"I don't know, Jason," he sounds sad now. At least it's not grumpy. I don't know what to say to that. How can he not know if he likes Superman? Maybe it's because Superman is my daddy, too. Maybe he doesn't want anybody else to be my Daddy. Does he even know Superman is my Daddy? I'll have to ask Mommy. I don't want to hurt his feelings by telling him that he's not my only Daddy.

"Can I have a drink?" I ask when he takes a sip of the dark juice in his tall glass.

"No, Jason," he says calmly. I frown.

"Why not?"

"You should be in bed," he says. There's something in his voice that makes me nervous. Then he dumps the juice out, or what's left of it, over the fire. The fire flares up and it gets bright enough for me to see the stack of papers beside him. They're my drawings. He's burning my drawings. Why is he burning my drawings?

"Why are you burning my drawings?" I ask, holding back tears. Daddy doesn't like it when I cry. He doesn't like seeing people cry. Not even Mommy will let him see her cry. I'm the only one Mommy lets see her cry, she even lets me hug her when she's sad and it seems to help.

"I don't like Superman," he says, not looking at me. He takes another drawing, this one of Superman saving some people from a fire, and puts it in the fire. It looks really cool for a minute, the bottom where I drew the house on fire catching first. It looks like real fire on the house, but then the sky is burning too, and then Superman and the people he's saving. That would never happen. Everybody knows Superman can't catch on fire.

"Why don't you like Superman?" I ask, not believing it. "He saved us. He's our friend!"

"No, Jason. He's Mommy's friend. Not my friend," he says.

"But, he saved you too!"

He's quiet for a really long minute and then he says, "You should be in bed Jason."

"I don't want you to burn my pictures!" I say, grabbing the next one as he's about to put it in the fire. This is the one I made for Mommy when Superman was in the hospital, the one where Superman is saving all of us. It's almost in the fire when I grab it and I feel the heat of the flame licking at my fingers when I touch it. The edges of the picture are on fire and I shake it, blowing on it until the fire goes out. Daddy is just staring at me and I realize I'm crying. He hates seeing people cry.

"Is your hand okay, Jason?" He asks and I look at my hand. It's fine. Why would there be anything wrong with my hand?

"It's okay," I say, holding it up for him to see. He just stares at it like he was staring at me a minute ago. Now I know why Mommy always says it's impolite to stare; it makes people uncomfortable.

"That's why he left," he says really quietly. I have really good ears, though. I can even hear Mommy and Superman talking in the front yard. They're talking, but I can't hear their words, just their voices. I wish they'd come back here and save the rest of my pictures and make Daddy stop acting so weird.

"Who?" I ask, wiping away a tear with my perfectly-okay hand.

"Superman. He left because of you," he's still talking really quietly.

"No," I say. "No he didn't. He left because he wanted to find his family."

"No, he was running away from his family. He was running away from his responsibility."

"No, Superman wouldn't do that," I try to reassure him, but I'm so much littler than he is, and he doesn't believe me. Especially because I'm crying.

"No, Jason, he left because he didn't want you," he says. His voice is really quiet. He pours wine into his glass from the bottle sitting next to him. He fills it up almost all the way to the top of the glass. The firelight looks really cool when it reflects off the liquid, but it really doesn't matter.

I'm crying a lot more now. Why wouldn't Superman want me? Isn't he my dad? Didn't he just come into my room to tell me goodnight and that he'd be watching me last night? I didn't really understand the words that he was saying. They were all grown-up words, but I usually do pretty well at understanding what grown-ups say. Why would he even come if he didn't love me just a little bit like a Daddy would?

"Richard," I hear Mommy's voice say from behind me. He's put more of my drawings and a few newspaper clippings from the _Daily Planet_ on the fire. I want to reach in and grab my pictures and Mommy's articles, but Mommy will yell at me again for being too close to the fire like she did last Christmas. Then I'll cry more and Daddy will be even less happy.

"Lois," Daddy's voice sounds really cold.

"Superman didn't even know about Jason until he got back."

"And why would he want a bastard son?" I don't know what that means, but Mommy gets really angry about it. She looks like she's going to hit Daddy until she sees me crying, then she just looks really angrily at Daddy again.

"Why are you burning my pictures, Daddy?" I ask, seeing him drop another handful onto the fire. Now it's a big fire. Now he doesn't have to hide it from Mommy because she's standing right there.

"You don't deserve them," he almost whispers. I bite my lip, trying not to cry.

Mom grabs me around the waist, pulling me up into her arms. I wrap my arms around her neck and put my face on her shoulder, hiding my tears from Daddy. "I don't want him to be my Daddy anymore," I say as we move away and I know that he heard me. "Why can't Superman be my only Daddy?" I ask, but only Mom hears that one.

She makes soothing noises, rubbing the back of my head like that will make it all go away. She's crying too when we get upstairs to my bedroom. She wipes the tears off my face and I wipe the tears off hers.

"Daddy's just having a bad day, honey," she says in that soothing voice even though we both know she's not telling the truth. "Don't listen to anything he says. I'll go save your drawings for you."

"I love you, Mommy," I say, hugging her again. I don't know why he's having a bad day, but I do know that even on bad days he doesn't talk the way he was just talking. At least mom will be able to get the rest of my drawings before they get burned.

"Why are you doing this, Richard?" I hear her ask when she makes it down to the fire. She held onto me until we were both done crying. I had my eyes closed to keep the tears in, so she thought I was asleep. I like it when people think I'm asleep. She just tucked me in and went to go save my drawings instead of talking to me and telling me more lies about why Daddy's being mean.

"Why am I doing what?" He asks her right back, sounding like he doesn't know what he's doing is wrong. That makes sense, I suppose; if he doesn't know that he's being bad then that explains why he said what he did. But not really.

"Why did you say those things to Jason? Why are you burning the drawings he worked so hard on?"

"They're true."

"That Superman left because he didn't want Jason? That's _not_ true," she says. They're both talking in the hushed yelling voices we use on the playground when we're pretending to be mad while we play and we don't want the playground lady to notice us. "He didn't even know I was pregnant."

"What, then, he didn't want you?"

Mommy is quiet. I don't know what she's doing. She's probably looking at him the way she looks at me when I do something bad. Because he's _really_ doing something bad.

"Don't have anything to say to that, Lois?

"You're drunk, Richard," she says. She sounds really tired and sad. I don't really know what drunk is, but that seems to be an excuse for him to be talking to Mommy the way he is. I just wish Superman would come and take her flying again so that he wouldn't talk to her like that anymore. I wish Superman would come and take me flying so that I wouldn't be able to hear them anymore. I hate it when they fight. The last time they fought was the day before the mean bald man tried to hurt us on his ship. They were fighting about whether I really liked my piano lessons or not. I don't know why they didn't just asked me. I liked the piano lessons just fine until what happened on the big boat. I don't really want to be near anymore pianos for a long time.

"That doesn't make it less true."

I squeeze my eyes shut and stuff my fingers in my ears. That's worked before when everything was too loud for me to sleep.

"He's not even human," Daddy says and I hear Mommy crying. I don't know if they're talking about me or Superman, but if Superman is my Dad and he's from a planet called Krypton, then I'm part of from a different planet too. That makes neither of us quite human, but I think that's okay. I just wish Daddy wouldn't say it so mean.

- - -

They're fighting again, but this time I know Daddy Clark is coming. I asked him to today when I saw him at the bullpen. I even fell asleep on his lap. I was in the car with Mommy when I woke up, though. I was sad because I wanted to still be on Clark's lap; he has a nice, big, warm lap. It's a good place to sleep. Especially when I can never sleep at home anymore because they're always fighting downstairs. They think I'm sleep and that I couldn't hear them anyways, but that's a lie.

"No, Lois!" I hear Daddy Richard yell even through my fingers in my ears. I cringe and squeeze my eyes tighter shut. Then I feel the usual warmth that comes with Daddy Clark as he scoops me up onto his lap. I pull my fingers out of my ears and wrap my arms around his neck. He holds onto me, hugging me close. He knows I'm afraid even though I'm not crying. He knows I don't like it when they fight. I know he doesn't like it when they fight either.

"Do you want to go?" He asks. I can feel his chest moving below my ear when he talks and it feels good. When his chest is moving under my ear I can't hear the yelling downstairs. I just nod.

Mom helped me pack a bag earlier, just the stuff I'll need for school tomorrow and my clothes. She told me she and Clark would pack up the rest of my stuff and her stuff and bring it with them when Clark comes back to get her. I'm glad we're leaving.

Wearing my backpack and my Aquaman pajamas as we fly is weird. It's just weird to be wearing Aquaman pajamas when you fly with Superman, especially if Superman is your Dad. Mom would never let me get Superman pajamas, though; I think she's afraid somebody might recognize me as his son if I wear the big 'S' on me. I don't think so- I'm too little to look like him. Maybe when I'm bigger and stronger. I'll have to get glasses, too, so people can't see my eyes. They're the same really blue color his are. I like it.


	4. Through the Eyes of the Jilted

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Up until about noon yesterday I thought I had the perfect family. My fiancé was dodging the whole setting a date thing, but I didn't think _this_ was the reason why. _He _was the reason why.

Clark Kent.

Of all the things I never expected, it was to find out that the gangly coworker Lois never mentioned, ever, just happened to be the father of the boy I thought was my son. Or at least he probably is. I want Lois to confirm it herself before I go off the deep end, not that I'm not already swimming out of the shallows.

How am I supposed to look at Jason the same way after hearing this?

The thing is, I'm not even _supposed_ to be hearing this. She's talking on the phone with him and I'm listening in. I thought she might be talking to somebody about her connections to Superman, or something; that's _why_ I'm listening in. I thought maybe she'd tell Clark that she still loved Superman when she wouldn't tell me because I happen to be her fiancé and Clark, I thought, was just a friend from the office. No such luck. She's in the den talking to Clark freaking Kent about how she still loves him, how to tell me all this without hurting me, and about whether or not she should leave me. Lucky for me, she still likes me. She won't leave me; she doesn't want to hurt me. Too late for that.

- - -

Jason heard me. How did Jason hear me?

I don't know. Who cares? I can't even look at him anymore. Poor kid, his life is falling apart around him. So is mine, though.

Lois Lane, the woman I loved blindly enough to think that we created a child together, is still hooked on somebody else. Somebody I didn't even know existed until she was falling for him again.

I didn't know she had any particular feelings for him until I heard their voices coming from our basement. Hell, I've known the guy for less than a week and I'm surprised he has any feelings for anything. He's so incredibly shy. He doesn't stand up to anything, but then when he's with Lois… he's a completely different person. He's the only person I've ever seen that's able to talk back to her, to talk her out of a dangerous story. _I_ can't even do that, and I've tried throwing Jason in there as well.

Jason.

Oh God, Jason.

That time on the yacht, the _Gertrude_, when I went to rescue them. There was a piano that had been thrown across the room. My thoughts immediately went to Superman and I expected to find him around the corner doing what I had gone to do. Instead it's just Lois and Jason locked in the pantry. I had to force myself not to think about it. Lois Lane and Superman go together like peanut butter and jelly. You just don't have one without the other. She wrote all the important articles about him, knew him better than anybody. And yes, I did notice that Jason's eyes were bluer than mine ever could be. But he had asthma and he needed so many medications since the time he was born. I refused to believe he was the son of the Man of Steel. Besides, Superman is an alien, as Lois pointed out during a conversation about this; he can't have children with a human.

I accepted that. I lived knowing Jason was my son. I promised myself that even if it turned out Jason really was Superman's kid, I could deal with it. I would love him no less for being part alien and not genetically connected to me at all. But the Superman was back and Lois was acting so different. And then the New Krypton thing happened, and now this. It might not be Superman that I'm having to deal with as the other father, but it's the same idea and I'm not holding out on my end like I promised myself I would.

I can't believe Jason heard me. He's probably in a lot of pain right now, confused. Lois is with him; I doubt she'll speak to me. I've already finished off yesterday's bottle of wine and opened another. Another thing Lois won't speak to me because of.

"We all have our vices," I told her, pointing to her three-quarters full pack of cigarettes. There's something in her eyes that always comes when she thinks of Superman and I want to kick myself. She met him on the roof for years under the pretense of going up for a smoke. I wonder if Clark ever joined her.

I need something stronger than wine. Vodka or tequila or something. I've got the presence of mind, here, though, not to go to a bar. Lois and I need to talk. I don't want her to leave. I want to work through this. I just want things to go back to the way they were a week ago, before Superman and Clark came back into our lives, before Jason heard all those things I really didn't mean to say, before Lois got that look on her face whenever I mention cigarettes or rooftops.

"I don't know what you're playing at," I say to her when she comes downstairs. Her face is hard. So this is the 'Mad-Dog' Lane I heard about for so many years. I've never actually seen her like this. I know she's a great reporter that she goes out and gets a story and makes it great. I know she's a force to be reckoned with when it comes to her stories, but I've never actually _seen_ her in this mode. Clark has, though. He laughed about it yesterday, before all this happened. That makes it worse.

"What?" She asks, her voice sharp, her eyes flaring. She's like a mother bear protecting her young. It's not like I attacked Jason. God, I would never hurt the kid. Even if he's not my son I spent the past five years taking care of him! She knows that, but what I said… I guess I deserve the look she's giving to me.

"I said I don't know what you're playing at," I say again, finishing off my glass and setting it on the counter, "Leading along Clark _and_ Superman…. I heard you and Superman in the yard yesterday night, you and Clark in the basement two days ago after I got back from picking Jason up… What have you told Jason? How will you explain what you're doing to him? Do you even know which one of us is his father?"

I just want an honest answer. I really _don't _know. We were together five years ago at about the time that would make it right for me to be Jason's father with Jason coming a little premature. But Lois and Clark went on an undercover expedition to Niagara Falls neither _ever_ talks about just before I met her. It's possible they got a little busy in their all-expenses-paid honeymoon suite. And then there's Superman. Lois is obviously taken with him. What kind of a woman would she be if she weren't? But she's the only one I can see Superman ever considering worth stooping down to our level for. I'm biased, of course, but I've heard them talk. I heard them talk in the yard last night when all walls were down, all pretenses set aside. She was in love with him, at one point, I couldn't say if she is now. That's probably another blow to my relationship with her.

"Clark is his father," she says, she looks like she'd like to hit me. "And Jason knows that, and so does Clark."

"Were you even planning on telling me?"

"I was going to this afternoon. But then you…" she trails of, glaring. I can see the tears in her eyes, but I know they'll never fall. Not in a million years will she cry in front of me. She never has, she's too strong. Apparently Clark is allowed to see her cry, though. She cried in front of him, in his arms, actually, two days ago after their argument in the basement. By then I was at the foot of the stairs, peeking around the corner. I could see them but they couldn't see me; they were too busy consoling each other and making up to notice me. I should've confronted them then. Then, maybe, I wouldn't have blown up like I did earlier in front of Jason.

- - -

Jason just crawled into Clark's lap.

This is pure torture.

I've never been more sorry for saying something in my life. Now my own son, not my flesh and blood but still the boy I've raised, won't even be in the same room as me. I don't blame him. Hell, I can't even look at him. I'm too ashamed. He'll have quite a story for a shrink some day.

And now Lois is over there with them. She was worried about Jason; at least I can still read her well enough to see that. I can't look at them. I have work to do anyway.

When I look back up they're all gone. Clark is walking towards the elevator with his jacket and briefcase in place. He seems completely unaffected by this entire situation. I'll tell you I'd be a lot more confused if I got back from a trip around the world to find out that I had a kid that I'd left a woman pregnant and alone with. I'd like to beat the crap out of Clark Kent just about now.

He just tripped over his foot. His shoelace isn't even untied or anything. There's something wrong with that guy. How could Lois ever be with him, even if it was just for one night? But it probably wasn't just one nigh or she wouldn't have gone running back to him like she's done. I know she'll be leaving me soon. I can see it whenever she looks at me.

I've been watching Perry, too. He sees things everybody else fails to notice. Hell, he paired them up and sent them to Niagara Falls, and continues to pair them up now. I refuse to believe that it's just because the pair of them fill up the front page on an almost daily basis. There's something in my uncle's face when he looks at either of them these day.

The picture is gone.

Oh, hell. He _did_ know. That picture disappeared right after Clark came back. After Lois and Clark argued in our basement two days ago, actually. That argument must have cleared a lot of things up because they started talking again. I never met two people who could have an argument while finishing each others' sentences. There's a bit of irony for you. The first day I met him I mentioned to Clark that no matter how close we get, Lois will always be a mystery. It was in jest, at the time. He had such a look on his face when she just walked away that I had to make sure that he realized that that's the way she treats everybody these days. Even her fiancé. I guess he was so hurt because he was used to finishing her sentences for her, not being walked away from. That might've been why Lois walked away, though; she was confused about where she stood with Clark. That was the only civil conversation the four of us have had together in the same place; me, Jason, Lois and Clark all gathered together without any yelling or glares. I can see _that_ conversation coming up pretty quick.

Jimmy's in talking to Perry. I've tried being patient; whatever they're talking about seems to be a tender issue between them. It certainly isn't work. Maybe they've noticed some things between Lois and Clark and myself. Maybe they saw Jason climb onto Clark's lap a few minutes ago. I certainly don't want them talking about that.

I'm in Perry's office before I realize I'm out of my own, so I just glare at them and hope Jimmy gets the hint and leaves.

"Olsen, I want a copy of that last one for myself," Perry barks, only pausing a moment to give me a disagreeable look. "The rest you can work into this year's Christmas album."

Great, the Christmas album. That was my first look into the deeper Lois. And the Lois and Clark relationship. I didn't see any of the old albums until I asked Jimmy about them right before I proposed to Lois. I didn't know that the tall guy with glasses was the Clark Kent Jimmy always talked about. I actually thought that he was Lois' boyfriend who accompanied her to the company function. How ironic.

"Yes, sir," Jimmy says before bolting out of the office. I would smile at his terror if I wasn't in such a foul mood.

"What is it, Richard?" He asks so calmly that I almost lose my edge. Fat chance.

"Did you know?" I ask, putting my balled up fists on the corner of his desk and glaring down into his eyes. He used to use this pose on me all the time when I was young and trying to lie my way out of something. Who knows if it will work on him? I feel more stable with my fists here, though.

"Did I know what, Richard?" He's so calm it really isn't fair.

"Did you know about Lois and Clark?" I practically whisper. I don't like to say their names together. He knows me better than this, he knows what I'm mad about and I know that he knows more than he's telling me. If he weren't my uncle and my boss, I would hit him.

"What do you mean?" He asks. I would _really_ like to hit him.

"Did you know they were romantically involved?" 'Romantically' catches around my vocal cords, grating like nails in my throat as I say it.

"Not until I saw Jason," he says. He's telling the truth, surprisingly.

"What?"

"His eyes," he looks down at the kindergarten photo of Jason that he keeps on his desk. It used to sit just in front of the picture of the three of us. "Jason has Kent's eyes."

"Why didn't you say something?" I hiss. My shoulders are slumped, my fists not so tight; I can't feel my nails biting into my skin anymore. I really wanted to hear him say he had no idea. To say that he didn't realize what he was doing to my family when he kept putting them together.

"Kent was gone, Richard," he says. Plain and simple, just like Perry. He's just getting the words out there so that I hear them. "_You_ are Jason's father."

"Not according to Jason," I spit. I tried to talk to Jason at breakfast this morning. Tried to apologize for what he heard me say. Try to explain that I didn't mean it, that I don't think he is what I said he was.

"Why would he think that?"

I can't answer him. I don't want to accept it. If I tell him, then it's definitely real. If I tell him I won't be able to look at him either, the way I can't look at Jason anymore.

Instead I go to my office, throwing things into my briefcase. It's not until I'm closed in the elevator, alone, that I realize I have no place to go. Lois and Jason are at home making dinner for two. Maybe a bar isn't such a bad idea.

- - -

"Whatever you said to him, Richard… you can't un-say it," she says. Her voice is so quiet, so filled with righteous anger for her son. I won't disagree. I can't disagree. But right now, I don't want to un-say what I said. Maybe the bar _was_ a bad idea. Such a bad idea.

"Maybe I don't _want_ to un-say it, Lois," I hear myself saying. It's the alcohol talking. I'm not like most drunks, I guess. When my inhibitions are lowered my mouth goes off on a tangent, leaving me in a corner of my brain just watching. Sometimes I horrify myself with what I say, sometimes I amuse myself. Tonight it just doesn't affect me. "Maybe what I said is true. Maybe he deserves to be deserted by any possible father."

That earns me a slap but I just laugh.

- - -

I fell asleep on the couch that night and when I woke up they were gone. Both of them. Their stuff completely cleared out of the house. The only things they left were the things too big for them to move; Jason's bed, the dressing table Lois' sister gave her… Her engagement ring was sitting on the counter next to my empty bottle of wine on a note that said 'goodbye.'

I'm hungover. My head is throbbing and the last thing I want to do is go to work, but if I don't I won't be able to see her. Maybe I can talk to her. Maybe I can tell her I was drunk and didn't mean what I was saying. Maybe I can tell her that we're just at a rough patch and everything will be okay if she'll just give me one more chance. It _will_ be okay if she gives me another chance. We're out of wine and I won't be buying any more if she comes back. If she comes back it means we'll have a chance.

She wasn't at work, though.

Clark was, but I _won't_ talk to him. He left right at three o'clock, probably to pick up Jason. To pick up his son.

Clark talked to Perry for awhile and I found myself wishing that I was Superman. Then I'd have more of a chance competing with Clark for Lois, _and_ I'd be able to hear what he was telling Perry. Then I'd know what was going on. Never have I felt so out of the loop.

Now I'm just sitting here in my office. Clark is gone. Lois never came in. I don't even want to think about Jason right now. The poor little boy, he really is still so young. He's my son even though he probably won't ever look at me again. I've never been more sorry in my life.

Have I even gotten anything done today? Probably not. Looking at my desk, it looks like I've done the bare minimum to keep my job. I'll email it to Perry and get the hell out of here.

- - -

"Why did you continue to pair them up when you could see what was happening?" I ask him. Yesterday he followed me home and watched me dump out the bottle of wine I found under the sink. He didn't say anything to me, I think he was just watching to make sure I didn't commit suicide or something. I couldn't commit suicide. First, I don't have the guts. Second, there might still be a chance with Lois if she would just _show up for work_.

"Have you read any of their work, Richard?" He asks calmly, trying to placate me. Wrong thing to say. Yes, I have read their work. Yes, it is good. They write perfectly fine separately, too. "Their writing styles compliment each other. They practically finish each others' sentences when they speak and it's even better when they write it down and tweak it together… They make a good team. I would be a fool to break them up over an office romance gone sour."

"Uncle Perry…" I start, hoping the reminder of our blood connection will intone a little sympathy. He knows perfectly well that Lois and Clark alone do not sell this newspaper. Jimmy chose that moment to interrupt, putting a folder on Perry's desk and darting out again. They made eye contact long enough for a short nonverbal conversation. Perry was expecting whatever's in that folder; I should probably steal it and see what it was. I open my mouth to continue, but Perry cuts me off.

"Richard," he says. "I know this is hard on you. I know you don't deserve this, but…" he sighs. "I don't think Lois was the right woman for you," I open my mouth to protest but he holds up a hand. How can he be saying these things? "I know you were very close for a long time, but I never got the impression that you two were," he inhales slowly as though reminding me to breathe and I realize that I _do_ need to breath, "inseparable the way Lois and Kent are. You weren't around during the first part of their relationship. They were inseparable. Their writing complimented each other. Their personalities complimented each other. Hell, Kent is the only one I've ever seen render Lois speechless," he's smiling now.

"I can't believe you're saying this," I say, my voice catching in my throat. "We were together for _five years_, Uncle Perry. We raised Jason together. We were going to be _married_," I choke on that last word and shake my head. "If you thought all these things why didn't you say something?"

"You were good together, Richard. I don't know what went wrong, but something did in this past week. I don't know if it was Kent coming back, or if it was the way you reacted to Kent coming back, but it happened," he glances at the folder and I follow his eyes. At the moment, I don't care about the pictures in the folder. Probably just the photos for the front page tomorrow. I don't really care. He has no idea what he's saying. He's so close to the truth, and so far from it. He knows everybody involved in this little soap opera, but he doesn't know the whole story. Like he missed last week's episode but he's watching today's anyways. "I agree, I _should've_ told you that I didn't think Jason was your son, but that doesn't matter now."

Like hell it doesn't matter now.

"Do you think I can get her back?" I don't know why I ask. He makes it sound like Lois and Clark were _destined_ to be together or something. Jason might be Clark's son, but I raised him. There's no way I'm letting them go this easily.

"No, I don't," he says. I didn't realize his opinion would matter so much, but it does. It hurts to hear him confirm it in front of me. "Lois has changed in these past few years, Richard. She lives for her son. She never used to be connected to anybody, but you gave her a taste of family and she got hooked. Even though she's not hooked to you anymore, she's still hooked to her son. I don't know what you did to drive Jason from you, and I know it hurts you now, but Lois won't come back to you unless you can fix that."

"I don't think I can," I whisper, not meaning to say it. He nods and I leave.

Back in my office of despair, I just sit down. Thankfully, my uncle's desk faces the same way mine does and he can't look at me through the glass walls without turning around. It's sinking in, now. There probably isn't much I can do about Lois and Jason leaving. Maybe I could go yell at Clark. Beat the crap out of him, go back to my empty house, burn some more of those damned articles. Jason took all of his crayon drawings with him so I can't burn any of those. That's alright, though; that would hurt too much.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter is the one I would appreciate the most feedback on. I may be making a few changes in the future, I'm not sure some of the stuff I was trying to put in came across so strongly as I was hoping for. Please let me know what you think! And sorry about the delay- I've had Harry Potter on the brain which doesn't do much when trying to write about Superman :)**


	5. Through the Eyes of a Hero

My senses return in a rush. Once again, I am thankful for my uniquely invulnerable skin and insensitive nerve endings when it comes to pain; my eardrums are vibrating at a level that would cause human eardrums to shatter painfully, the noise from all around me is incredible and unfiltered, as I've learned to do over the years. The blocks go up reflexively, and then all that is left are the sounds my own body makes—lungs expanding and contracting, heart beating, the dull clicking of joints as I stir in the hospital bed. I expand my hearing to let the sounds of the room in, but all I hear is the beeping of a heart monitor and the whirring of the computers by the bed. It's safe to open my eyes.

I'm in a hospital bed—that much I'd already figured out. Somebody has removed the suit; it's lying across the visitors' chair in the corner. Somehow I feel naked without it, though that might just be the open-backed hospital gown I'm wearing. It's a plain hospital room, nothing extraordinary about it so far as I can tell, not that I've been in many hospital rooms myself; I've seem plenty of ERs and ambulance entrances, not too many rooms.

There are two police officers standing outside the double doors, both with the slightly elevated heart rates of people who are on edge, wary of danger or nervous about something. There is a swarm of similarly anxious heart beats gathered beyond the wall to my right; a massive gathering of people in front of the hospital's main entrance. They're gathered with posters and candles, police officers working crowd control at the doors. The crowd extends nearly a block in either direction.

That's insane. They don't even really know who I am. Would they stand there for Clark Kent? Doubtful.

My mother is there in the crowd. She looks worried beyond belief. I hate that that worry is there because of me. Ben Hubbard is standing with her. She hasn't told him who I really am; he probably just thinks that she's concerned about Superman. Concerned enough to buy a plane ticket and stand at the front of the crowd for… days? How long has it been?

Three days. I've been out of it for three days according to the wall calendar in the office a few hallways over; the days are scratched off in red, the days I've been here circled in blue pen.

My poor mother.

I climb out of the hospital bed, making sure not to make a noise loud enough for the officers standing guard to hear, and blur into the skin-tight suit. It takes less than a couple of seconds, as tends to happen with super-speed. I leave my hospital gown where the suit was, feeling much more comfortable in the blue and red, though this suit leaves nothing to the imagination, I'm sure. Some days I wish I could just take off the suit and be Clark for a day in my ill-fitting tweed. The tweed isn't the best, but I often wonder what it would be like to be one of them, those gathered outside right now, the normal human beings; I wonder what it would be like to be the one imagining flying and staring in wonder at one who could, instead of being the one with a world on his shoulders. Days when I'm thinking like that usual turn around when I save a busload of kids on their way home from school or something and the primary colors and the responsibilities and sacrifices that go with them are worth it. Even remembering rescues, and I've never forgotten one of them, makes it worth it.

There's a nurse coming to check on me, so I jump out the window. They shouldn't have given me a room with a window if they didn't want me to just leave; I suspect somebody thought of that, though. Nice of them. The alarm rings behind me, alerting the hospital to my disappearance even though I'm just sitting on the roof. If I weren't so crowd-shy when it gets down to it, I would go make some sort of thank-you speech. But, I'm crowd shy. How's that for irony?

The night is clear up here on the roof, the moon shining down on the crowd below though none of them would be able to see it properly with all the light around them. There's a slight breeze up here, swirling the voices of the crowd around me; sometimes one voice more strong than another, conversations taking dominance in the ripples of sound. Everybody is concerned down there but it also seems to be prime social spot for the locals and there are a few entrepreneurs taking advantage of the large gathering, hot dog venders keeping the crowd fed and others selling t-shirts with my house crest on them. The smell of hot dogs, not a particularly appetizing food when you really think about it, nearly has my mouth watering; I don't usually _have_ to eat, sunlight is enough, but I suppose I've been out for three days—no sunlight, no food. Yeah, hot dogs are sounding pretty good.

I'll have to wait 'til later to talk to Mom. She's right at the front of the crowd; I can't exactly drop out of the sky to talk to her. And Ben is there. I wonder how he'll take it when he finally figures out the truth? If he knows my mom well enough to take her to Bingo and keep up conversation, he knows that she's not the type of person who would be a groupie—who would fly across the country to stand in a crowd for a superhero. They're staying at my apartment, so I'll talk to them after I talk to Lois.

Lois. Oh, God, Lois. And _Jason_. My son.

She made some pretty hefty statements while I was out. She wasn't sure if I could hear her. I certainly could. That and the damn heart monitor. The thing was giving me a headache. I'm supposed to be impervious to headaches.

- - -

"Goodnight!" Jason calls out from his window as I drift across the lawn. My son is telling me goodnight. Not for the first time in my life, I'm speechless. I can't think of anything to say. Or, actually, I think of too many things to say. There is so much I want to tell that little boy smiling at me in his Aquaman pajamas. First of all… Aquaman? A.C. would laugh his ass off if he knew that Superman's kid wore Aquaman pajamas to bed. Then there're the Batman sheets, but I concede. There's so much more. 'Goodnight' would cut it, but 'I love you, son' would be better. I want to repeat the little speech I just gave to his conscious form, but I know he's too young to really understand those words. I can't really say any of those, though, because Lois has now spotted me from her place on the lawn.

"I thought," she says, her voice too high, catching in her throat. She's so quiet, the gentle crashing of the waves on the dock and the creaking of the rope keeping Richard's seaplane from drifting away almost drown her voice out, but Lois' voice is one I'll never let get away from my ears.

I can't stop myself, I fly down to her level, standing close and looking into her eyes. She looks so fragile right now. I can barely hold in my smile when I notice the cigarette and lighter she's holding, but not using. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine," I assure her with as much confidence as I can pump into my voice. She breathes a sigh of relief and I give her a small smile.

"I was so worried," she admits, putting a hand on my chest, tracing the edge of the 'S' symbol there. I resist the shiver that her touch evokes, and the urge to cover her hand with mine. I can hear Richard snoring in the bedroom they share, and Jason is fussing with his sheets, getting himself properly covered.

"I heard you," I say after a moment, finally giving in and taking her hand in my own, moving it off my chest but barely.

"You did?" She swallows, glancing up at the house behind her. Her heart is racing, has been since I took her hand in mine. I wonder if its nerves or if there is still something there. Something that she can feel, remember, even though I was an idiot and took away her memories of the most precious time of my life.

"I have remarkably good ears," I say, trying to lighten the mood, smiling. She smiles back and seems surprised that I would say something like that. It's probably more _human_ than she's come to expect from me. Her smile falters, her heart now back to a more normal pace. She looks up into my eyes, begging me for my honesty. I know what's coming next.

"Why can't I remember?"

"Because," I say slowly. Superman doesn't lie. I can't tell her the whole truth, though, or she'll be just as miserable as before. Or will she be? She'll be incredibly angry either way, I know that much. "I had to take your memories of that time away."

"_Why_?" He voice isn't even accusing, just hurt.

Oh, God, I love you so much, Lois. And you'll never know how much. I can never tell you. Not again. I love you too much to hurt you like that.

"It hurt you, Lois," I say softly. "It hurt you so much."

"How would it hurt me? I don't understand, Superman," the name catches in her throat because it's the name she gave me; she can't remember what to really call me. "I don't even know your real name."

"I was born Kal-El," I remind her.

"But you have a different name, too, don't you?" I nod.

"I do."

"And I knew it once."

"You knew _everything_ once."

"I don't understand why you took it away."

"It hurt you, Lois. You knew who I was and we couldn't be together. You saw me going out and doing what I do, and all you did was worry. It's not possible for me to be with you the way you deserve. I'll always have to go off and be Superman. The world has to come first; that was proven to us in those few days that we were together."

"Just a few days?"

"A few perfect days," I say, wanting to hug her, touch her, anything. All I can do is squeeze her hand, gently, though. "And then Zod came and he tried to use you against me to take over the world… it almost worked. We can't let that happen again. We can't be close. I can't tell you who I am and put you in that danger."

"What about Jason?"

"Jason," I sigh. Jason knows who I am, both parts. He heard me talking just now, so he knows I'm his father, and he realized that Clark Kent and Superman are one in the same on the first day I met him. He's a very smart boy. "I want to be part of his life, Lois, but nobody can know that I am. I don't want either of you in that danger."

"Don't you think we should have a choice?" Her voice is accusing. I can understand that.

"Jason," I start, wondering what I should tell her. "Jason knows everything, Lois. He's a smart boy. He figured it out."

"I think you just insulted my intelligence."

"No," I say, chuckling. "I just complimented your son."

"Your son, too."

"Yes."

"Please tell me."

"I—" I want to tell her that I can't, but I also want to tell her everything. "Lois," I start again and then sigh. "If you look hard enough, you'll figure it out again. Just… think about what I said. If you figure it out I won't lie to you, but—it will be a burden, knowing my secrets."

"Are they a burden to you?"

"Yes," I almost laugh out loud, but it's too hard to laugh at that, so my smile falls off my face. "We see each other every day, Lois. I see Jason every day. And I can't let myself act the way I'd like to," I know right then I've said too much. _Way _too much. I should probably just kiss it away again. The look on her face tells me she'd probably let me kiss her, it also tells me that she's searching her memory banks for any possibilities of who I am.

Two houses down, a husband and wife rage at each other. Neither seems to even remember what they're mad about. I scan the house for other occupants automatically, finding nothing; at least there are no kids listening to their parents fight. Except maybe Jason. How long until he can hear those people fighting down the street? How long until he starts hovering in his sleep? How can I ever leave him alone through that? I would've given anything to have had somebody even remotely similar to me when my powers were developing to tell me I wasn't a freak; I can't let him go through that alone, even as I can't be there for him every second of every day.

"Take me flying?" She asks, jarring me from my own spiraling thoughts.

"We—" I start to say, "we shouldn't," but I don't.

"Please?"

"Alright."

She stands on my feet again, dropping her cigarette and lighter down on top of her slippers and gripping my forearms.

"You know, you really shouldn't smoke, Lois," I say with a small smile. As I look up from the dropped lighter and cigarette I x-ray through her skin to the soft tissues beneath, checking for cancer as I've done the first time I see her nearly every day since our first interview. She's lucky, there's no cancer, no death creeping up on her from within.

"You'll notice I didn't even light that one," she says, a proud smirk on her face that I have to refocus to see.

"Going cold turkey?" I immediately want to hit myself. First of all, it's a dorky thing to say. Second of all, she's staring at me in startled surprise, as though she hadn't expected me to know that phrase. But why wouldn't I know it? I live here too, she knows. I suppose I keep forgetting that all she remembers about me is the alien side that shows up for her interviews. Admittedly, there's only been once since my return, but before I left, after the business with Zod, we had a few and I can't say that I was anything but distractedly aloof.

"As of five minutes ago, yes," she smirks, forcing herself to stop staring. Her heart is hammering in her chest and a deep breath forces it slower. An unexpected, though I should've expected it, rush of tenderness flood me; she should be boiling over with questions that she has every right to frame with dislike, but here she is joking about her worst habit. "But I'll talk to you tomorrow about that one, and we'll see."

"I guess we will," I say. It might also help that I've thrown out the stash she had at work, and the stash she had in her purse.

We're out over the harbor now, well out of sight of her house so far as her eyes can tell. I can see Jason climbing back into bed; he watched us take off. Either he's like me and he doesn't need very much sleep, or he's like Lois and he's too curious for his own health.

We fly for another minute, leaving the harbor behind to be out above the open ocean. There was so much terror in this ocean three days ago, and now it's calm. The waves aren't even very bad tonight. The crashing is loud but soothing in its own way against my eardrums, and I'm sure its helping the mood for Lois. She's just standing there on my feet, holding onto my arms. One of her thumbs is drawing little circles, I don't think she notices. It's as soothing as the waves, her touch. I wish I could kiss her, or even just hold her more closely. Chalk another point up on the side of my heart that wants to tell her all my secrets and hope she accepts me.

"Can I kiss you?" She asks out of the blue. It's all I can do not to drop several feet in the air. Her thumb stops on my arm when I tense ever so slightly; I guess she was doing that on purpose.

"Lois," I say, uncertain. Yes, I want to kiss her. Badly. But how far can we let ourselves go, here? Before I can make up my mind, her lips are on mine. She's a helluva kisser, I'll tell you that.

I pause only for a moment before responding. Her tongue begs entrance and I succumb, fighting for and winning control of the kiss shortly after. Her hands are no longer clutching my forearms; instead they are in my hair, on my neck, pulling me closer. One of my hands has to stay on her waist, not that that's a bad thing, so that she doesn't fall down into the ocean that wouldn't be so soothing up close. A drop to the ocean from this height and the water might as well be concrete so far as Lois is concerned. That makes me pull her closer with the arm around her waist while the other is tangled in her hair; the elastic band holding her hair back dropped into the sea below so that I'd have the full advantage of her thick curls in my hand.

We break apart, gasping for breath. I can't believe I let her do that; that I went along with it. I can feel the warm metal of her engagement ring on the hand still holding onto my neck. Her other hand is resting on my chest.

"I'll never get that elastic back, will I?" She asks, smirking.

"Sorry," but I'm not. She smiles now, not smirks, and I can't help but smile back. Not one of the little, guarded smiles people (and Lois) are used to seeing in the paper on Superman's face, but an honest-to-God smile that only my Mom ever sees these days. The ones at the office are overdone; the ones for the papers are underdone. This is my smile, and this one's for Lois. I think she knows that, too. Except for the part about Mom.

"You're a liar," she tells me, back to the smirk.

"Well," I say, "I _would_ be sorry, if you were really upset about loosing an elastic."

"If you say so," she shrugs, moving her hand from my chest to wrap around my back, trailing across the muscles I had to do no work whatsoever to get. Her fingers make their way to the spot on my back that I was stabbed and I flinch. She pulls back, looking up at me carefully. "Are you alright? I thought you said…?"

"I'll be alright," I assure her, wishing I hadn't reacted so much. It's just not every day that I feel any sort of pain at all. I can't even stub my toe. Heck, when I stub my toe I usually put a dent in the floor. "It's just a bit tender. I'll get some sun and it'll be fine."

"Are you sure, I mean…" she shakes her head, her eyes a bit teary. I kiss her forehead, using my free hand to brush a tendril of hair out of her face, my hand coming to rest cupping her cheek.

"I'll be fine, Lois. I rarely get hurt, and when I do I don't stay hurt for long."

"But… still."

"This is what I meant about the worrying thing," I whisper, holding back a chuckle.

"Well why _shouldn't _I worry about you? You're the father of my son. There's so much to lose," her voice catches and she clears her throat, looking up at me boldly. "You see, it won't matter now, anyways, if I know who you are. I'll worry just as much just knowing you're Kal-El than knowing you're… Ralph from Starbucks… You're not Ralph, are you?"

"No, I'm not Ralph," I laugh. I've gotten my coffee from Ralph before. He's about half my height, has a potbelly, and a handlebar mustache. "Though he makes an excellent caramel macchiato."

Now _that_ surprises her. She's probably trying to think of all the guys she knows who would go for a caramel macchiato. I can't say I'm one of them. Ralph makes really good caramel macchiatos, but I usually just order a tall black coffee and add a cream. Or just leave it black. It doesn't really do much for me, anyways. Not even triple espresso. Kind of sucks. It _does_ take the edge off a long night, though, if I'm tired enough.

"Stop stressing, Lois, it's not my usual order," she chuckles.

"So, Mister coffee-guy. What's _my_ usual order?"

"As much as possible as fast as possible."

"Very funny."

"Two creams, one sugar in the biggest mug the _Daily Planet_ bullpen has ever seen."

"It was a gift."

"I know," I say, trying to keep the smirk out of my voice. It was a gift from me after our first year as partners.

"I'm staring to think you're a super-stalker, here, Superman."

"No, I'm just closer than you think," I smile and look down at her face. She's still trying to place me. I can't help but feel bad. She won't rest until she figures it out, and then it's going to tear her life apart. I look away.

"What's wrong?"

"You're not going to like it when you figure it out."

"Do we not get along?"

"We get along fine," I say, chuckling. We even started finishing each others' sentences again just before she went and got on Luthor's yacht. I have to suppress a shudder at that thought. "It's just… like I said; I'm closer than you think. It will be a tough day when it comes to you. I just don't want it to be too soon."

"You're talking about what's going to happen at home, for me, when I figure it out."

"Yes," I say solemnly, the mood broken despite our still intimate posturing.

"I can't tell you what will happen," she sighs. "I can tell you, though, that I enjoyed that kiss a lot more than I should've," she kisses the corner of my jaw at the soft spot near my ear. She found that spot fast last time too. I close my eyes as she continues kissing along my jaw. "I haven't… I haven't even felt the need to kiss Richard like this since about a month before you got back," she sighs, stopping her kisses and leaning her forehead on my collarbone.

"What?" I'm surprised. They look so happy together at the bullpen. Could it just be a front for the office? For Perry? She sighs again, her warm breath hitting my chest and warming my heart. She really shouldn't be able to do these things to me.

"It's just… I don't know."

"Lois," I say softly, almost so softly that I think the wind will take it away before it meets her ears.

"Kal-El," she says, looking up at me again. "I promise you're not ruining my pristine domestic existence. I've been… putting off the wedding for so long Richard was staring to think there was a reason other than nerves, and there was tension. And then you came back and he noticed other changes in my behavior. Whenever I look at Jason I see you, and I can't help but think… Richard isn't you."

"Nobody else is me, Lois."

"Expect for that mystery guy that I apparently see every day close enough so that he knows how I take my coffee."

"Ah, the _real_ me, I suppose," I say, and she looks thoughtfully at me for another moment. Again, I curse myself for letting my guard slip.

"So this is the act, then?" She asks. "The aloof detachment from the earthbound population."

"I suppose," I say warily. Yes! I want to scream. I'm not nearly as arrogant as I come across when in costume, I want to tell her. "But I don't act exactly like I normally would then, either."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I have to put people off my tracks," I smirk.

"Is _this_ the way you normally act?" She asks. She has backed up slightly, her hands on my upper arms this time instead of my forearms, keeping herself closer than she was when we took off, but not so close as she was a few moments ago.

"I suppose it is," I bite my lip. I'm giving way too much away. I should bring her back to her house and her fiancé and our son. I should get as far away from her as possible to keep from hurting her again. At the same time, though, I'm praying that she puts the absences in both my lives together, and figures me out, and _accepts_ me. "I'm being incredibly irresponsible tonight."

"What?"

A particularly large wave crashes into the nearest below us, though Lois doesn't notice. I can hear fish moving about beneath the surface, flitting here and there with the movement of the water, their tails making bubbles erupt in their wake and rush to the surface with a faint fizzing sound. It's distracting, I tune it out.

"I shouldn't want you to figure this out, Lois, but I do." Now when did that happen? I came into this conversation ready to step back, let Lois and Richard rebuild their relationship and carry on with the lives. Now I want her to figure out who I am, hopefully make her peace with it and let me have at least a small part in my son's life (I'll do anything to get that, even beg if she makes me).

She looks at me for a moment. All of her features are clear in the moonlight, her intelligent eyes gleaming in the far-off reflections of the water below. Then she's kissing me again. I wonder if I'll ever be the one to kiss her first. Probably not, I'm too shy. There's part of the Clark Kent persona that I didn't have to make up, or even exaggerate very far.

Did I mention she's an amazing kisser? Or maybe she's not and I'm just biased. That tends to happen when you're in love, and I certainly am. By the way she's kissing me I think she might still love me, too. Or maybe she's just hoping I can reverse the memory-wipe I did all those years ago.

"Lois," I mumble against her lips, not really wanting to stop kissing her.

"Hm?" She asks, pulling back ever so slightly. I continue to kiss her, trailing a wet line along her jaw and down to her collarbone. She moans as I get farther down. She moaned last time too. She moaned a _lot_ last time we were together like this. I'll have to stop myself before I get much more into it. I still have to go home and talk to my mother, after all.

"I should take you back," I tell her, kissing her open lips again, then her cheeks, then her eyelids, then her lips again. Her tongue is warm and moist against mine. I really don't want to stop this.

"Yeah, it's getting late," she manages to get out, but she doesn't pull away. I can't think well enough to determine a flight plan when we're like this. I can barely remember to keep us level in the air; gravity really doesn't bother me, but I have a feeling Lois would notice.

I finally pull back, licking my lips and tasting her on them. I'm barely keeping it together as it is, I won't be able to get her scent out of my nose for a month, and I don't know _how_ I'm going to face her at work tomorrow. Do I bring her coffee first thing in the morning when she walks in just to see if she notices? Maybe I should get her order wrong just to throw her off, or would that work? Maybe I'll get her a caramel macchiato.

"Please just tell me who you are," she whispers, again she's sucking on the place below my ear. I fight back a moan. Keep it together Kent!

"Tomorrow, Lois, I'll make sure you figure it out tomorrow," I say, barely believing I'm agreeing to it. Of course, I'm also wondering whether or not I can get a hickey. Probably not, invulnerability will take care of that. At least she won't know the moment she sees me because she would see the mark she made on _Superman_ last night now on Clark Kent.

A plan is forming in my mind, though. Let her figure it out. Let her make her judgments. See where we stand. Work it out between the pair of us. Then we bring Jason into it; see where we all stand together. Then, finally, bring Richard into it. Richard is the most volatile variable of this equation, though; I don't know him well enough to predict how he'll react to this when presented with it, or how he'll react before we tell him anything, while we're working everything out.

Everything will rest with Lois, I decide. I will do what she feels is best, what she wants. My being part of Jason's life is exempt to that rule, of course; that's the one thing I'll stand up for.

Somehow I've managed to bring us to the air just above 312 Riverside Drive. She looks down and sighs.

"They're both asleep," I tell her. She kisses me again on the mouth, passionately, desperately. I kiss her back just because I know she won't want me to by this time tomorrow, and because I really wish she would. "Just promise me one thing."

"What?" She asks, leaning back and not removing her hands from my hair. We are slowly descending towards the front lawn where her slippers and cigarette wait.

"That we can have the argument you're sure to want in a private place."

"I don't want to fight with you."

"Yes you will," I smirk. She _loves_ fighting with Clark Kent almost as much as she _loves_ kissing Superman. When she puts those two together she's either going to take me to bed because I'm her best friend and not the creep from copying, or track down Lex Luthor and buy his stock of kryptonite so that she can fashion herself a large stick to hit me over the head with repeatedly.

"Alright," she sighs, kissing me lightly one more time. "I promise to drag you someplace private before throttling you. Though that really won't work," there's a gleam in her eye I know is reflected in my own. "And I _really_ can't see myself wanting to fight with you."

"I can," I say sadly. She's going to be hurt that I kept this secret from her. We're friends, good friends despite my absence, at work, and we have a son together. That should be enough to trust her and tell her. I still really don't want to hurt her, though. This is going to hurt her, but not knowing is hurting her, too. This has the potential of turning out really well for the pair of us, or very badly for the pair of us. And then there's Richard to think about, again. I don't know him, but Lois wouldn't be with him if he weren't a good person, she said herself he was a good man.

"Alright," she says again softly. She pulls back so that she's standing on my feet and holding my forearms like when we took off. I feel a little lost without her close presence, not that she isn't still close. "Is anybody watching?" She asks when she steps off my feet, putting on her slippers and standing a few feet away, looking thoughtful.

"No…?" I say, hearing only soft snores and slow heartbeats coming from all the houses around us.

"Good," she whispers before taking a quick step closer and jumping a little to recapture my lips. I smile against her lips, holding her tightly to keep her from slipping away.

"Goodnight, Lois," I say, pecking her lips another time and lowering her to the ground.

"Goodnight, Kal-El," she says right back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes you will," I assure her before floating off.

I hang in the air above her house, watching her gather her cigarette and lighter off the ground, tossing them in the trash as she walks into the house. I can't help but smile at that. She checks on Jason and heads toward her bedroom door. I have to leave. I can't watch her lay down next to Richard.

- - -

Mom is still awake when I return home. Ben Hubbard is sitting on my sofa next to her and they're watching the news. The report is out that Superman left the hospital, but everybody is worrying that I either went off somewhere to die or various other awful possibilities.

I enter through the hole in the wall silently, stilling the tarp as best I can, and watch them sit and watch the reports. Ben still doesn't know why she cares so much, but he obviously cares about her. I can trust him, I think. Mom needs somebody to talk to about all this anyway. It's no fair to her to have to keep my secrets on that lonely farm all by herself.

I really don't know how to start this conversation, though. Oh, hi, Mister Hubbard. Sorry about those crop circles I made in your corn when I was twelve. I thought it was funny. Thanks for taking care of my mom, and, by the way, I'm from a different planet. Ironic about the crop circles, eh?

Yeah, no.

"Mom?" I say instead, standing just outside the ring of light from the TV. I can see the light reflecting off the shiny redness of my boots, catching on the 'S' emblem on my chest, probably illuminating my face in a decidedly eerie way. I wonder why they haven't turned on any lights.

"Clark?" She says, spinning around on the couch and then getting off the couch altogether, rushing around it and throwing herself at me. She performs the same little jump Lois did only moments ago, but she aims so that her head is on my shoulder, her arms wrapped around my neck to keep her in place. I can't help but smile, holding her around the waist tightly and moving more into the light and closer to the couch. Mister Hubbard is staring open mouthed at me, his heart racing, drawing breath like he'd like to say something and exhaling in confusion. I set her down near the couch and she starts talking a mile a minute, "Clark, honey, what happened? Are you okay? Where did you go? You've been missing for hours! Everybody's so worried! Are you sure you're alright? Nobody would tell us what happened! I couldn't get in to see you!"

She would've kept going if I hadn't started laughing.

"It's not funny, Clark! You were in a _coma_ for three days! You!"

"I know," I say, still smiling. I've withdrawn slightly, folding my arms across my chest and looking down at her. I know my eyes are still laughing even though my mouth isn't anymore.

My living room is as plain as it was before I hefted the growing kryptonite continent into space: the plain TV on the unremarkable TV stand, my minimal DVD collection (the Simpsons and a few interesting documentaries I missed while I was away) on the shelf below the TV, the cinder block bookcases along the walls filled with my extensive and multi-lingual book collection, the door with the chain hanging loose leading out into the empty hall beyond, the arch leading to the sparse kitchen—there was a layer of dust in the kitchen before I left, as I eat out if at all as of late… Mom has been cooking.

"Clark," she says, warning in her voice. I sigh.

"I'm fine, Mom. I'll be okay," I assure her like I assured Lois. "It was just… a lot of kryptonite."

"A lot of kryptonite?" She asks incredulously. "Clark, you lifted an _island_ the reporters are saying was _made_ of kryptonite into _space_… You could've _died_!" Her voice catches despite the threatening look on her face.

"It—" I start, but realize that's not the way to go. "I'm okay, Mom. I'll be fine… Are _you_ okay? I saw you at the hospital."

"Why didn't you come down and _say_ something, then?"

"Mom, there were so many people in that crowd, and… you know I don't like big groups of people, or speeches, or anything like that," she's smirking at me.

"I know, honey," she sighs, patting me on the cheek. Then she's looking me over, walking around me, lifting my arms and cape, looking for any wounds. Luckily the stab wound on my back is nothing but a light line and a greenish bruise. It'll be gone by morning with any luck. Her heartbeat jumps significantly when she sees the tear in the suit. "Clark, what is this?" She asks, running her fingers gingerly along the scar. Again, I flinch away, twisting lightly out of her grasp and coming to stand a step away. Probably not the best idea, now she looks even more worried than before.

"It's fine, just a bit tender," I say, running a tentative hand over my back and jerking it away when I find the hole in the suit. "I'll need a patch job, though, I think."

"What _happened_?"

"Lex Luthor," I say quietly. "He had a, uh, shard of kryptonite. He stabbed me with it," she sucks in a breath and I immediately regret telling her. "I'm fine, though, Mom. Just a little sore. It'll be fine in the morning. With the sunrise."

"Oh, honey," she sighs, coming over and wrapping her arms around me again. I just smile and pat her back comfortably. Ben clears his throat, snapping her out of it as the TV announcer reports that Superman has now been out of sight for going on four hours and the world is worried. I scowl at the TV.

"I'm going to change, and then, uh, we should… talk," I say, glancing at Ben. Mom nods, sitting down on the couch and turning off the TV.

It takes me a grand total of two seconds to get out of the suit and into jeans and a white t-shirt. I bring my glasses out with me and set them on the table, handing Mom the upper part of the suit minus the cape for inspection.

"Do you think you can mend it, or…?"

"It shouldn't be too hard," she says, probably trying not to think of how it got there so much as how to fix it. I just nod. Ben clears his throat again and Mom folds the shirt and puts it on the coffee table next to my glasses, the 'S' shield facing the room.

"So, um," Ben tries to start, still staring at me.

"Yeah," I say, running a hand through my hair. I got rid of the curl when I was changing into jeans, but it'll probably come back now that I've pushed my hair back. Way to go, me. This couldn't be any more awkward.


	6. Throught the Eyes of a Woman

Clark Kent just handed me a caramel macchiato.

Clark Kent, who has gotten me my coffee every day that he has been to work since the beginning of his second week at the _Planet_ and knows very well that I take my coffee with two creams and a sugar. Clark Kent who just got back from a five year trip. Clark Kent who is about 6'4" when he's not slouching, about 220lbs, has jet black hair, a very familiar jaw line, and an incredibly muscular build I hadn't noticed before.

Oh.

My.

God.

Clark Kent, my best friend, is Superman. Superman, as in Kal-El. Kal-El, as in Jason's father. Clark is Jason's father. Clark is Superman.

Holy shit!

How could he keep this from me for so long? How could he lie about this?

I would very much like to throttle him!

He knew I would react like this, he expected it. He even apologized for it and asked me to do the shouting in private last night. Oh my God! Last night! I kissed Clark last night. How is that possible?

Is it weird that I'm more concerned about kissing my best friend than about the part where we were kissing several hundred feet above the open ocean?

Time to relax the grip on the coffee cup. I'm going to break it.

No wonder he booked it over to his desk after he handed it to me. He didn't want it all over his shoes if I dropped it, or coat if I smashed it. As it is, my left hand, the one not holding the coffee cup, is twitching to slap him, though I'm sure it would hurt me more than him. But it would sure make me feel better.

Holy shit.

I can't say I'm angry. I probably should be, but I'm really not. Not after that initial shock, anyway. I'm more hurt, I think. He's my friend. He should've trusted me. But then, he was right last night. It will be ten times harder to see him flying in and out of a burning building on TV next time he does it knowing that it's _Clark_ risking his life. I guess he's not really risking his life, though, unless there's a bunch of kryptonite in the fire, which, to my knowledge, isn't really very likely.

"You better be on the roof when I get up there," I hiss under my breath, glancing across the room and seeing him nod solemnly. I can't really read his expression very well, he's too far away. It's hard to believe, though, and seeing his powers confirmed like that, the fact that he heard that whisper from all the way across the room; it keeps me stuck to my chair for another minute.

I finally regain my senses, and grab a post-it, looking for all the world like I've remembered an interview. I grab my coat and purse and stomp across the bullpen, nodding to the people who look up as I go, and punch the 'up' button on the elevator.

Clark is there when the elevator opens on the roof. My mouth goes dry.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

"So," I say, clearing my throat and taking a sip of the coffee I hadn't realized I'd brought with me.

"So," he says right back, not bothering to mask his voice by bringing the pitch up like he normally does. We stand there and stare at each other for a few minutes. I'm letting everything fall into place; I'm not sure what he's doing. All of his quick exits suddenly make sense; it's not a weak bladder or an incredible amount of dry cleaning after all. It's almost laughable, actually. The longer we stand here in silence the more he looks like he might be sick. I can see Superman clearly in his features, now, even with those ridiculous glasses. Those make sense now, too. I've been telling him to get contacts since the day we met and he's been shrugging it off.

Ridiculous.

Just as I open my mouth to speak his head twitches ever so slightly towards the city. He gives me an apologetic look before focusing his eyes out there. I can only assume he's looking _through_ the building it looks like he's staring at.

"I have to go," he says quietly. "There's a pair of gangs getting ready to dish it out in a back alley a couple of miles from here and a couple of third graders watching on the sidelines," he sighs. I can't help but feel sorry for him; the things he must see.

"Go ahead, we can talk… later," I say, trying to think of a good time. Honestly, I'm surprised I sound so calm about it. He glances at me once more before he becomes a blur of charcoal suit and primary colors. He only pauses a moment when he's fully changed, giving me one last glance. I hold my breath, biting my lip. It's one thing to know that he's Superman, another thing entirely to see him change right in front of me.

Then he's gone, the displaced air rushing around my body, almost knocking me over. I recover before it comes to that, though. My coffee cup, however, doesn't fair so well; it's lying on the pavement oozing whipped cream into the surrounding puddle of flavored coffee. That's a waste of good caffeine, if you ask me, but...

I can't concentrate back down in the bullpen. The cup for my caramel macchiato is sitting on the edge of my desk (wouldn't want the Blue Boy Scout to come back and find it up there and think I'd thrown it down in anger or something) laughing at me, telling me about all the things I failed to notice. I can't _believe_ I never noticed. That could be part of the memory trick he pulled, though. And there he is on TV, holding two angry-looking guys, thugs, actually, apart as he drops them off at the police station. The gang members are trading threats even as Superman carries them by the scruffs of their necks. It's humorous, really; if I weren't so completely thrown off balance, I'd make fun of Clark for it later and the patiently unhappy expression he's wearing as he delivers them to the chief of police.

- - - One Week Later

An entire _week_ gone by without a chance to talk to Clark about his alter ego—whichever one happens to be the alternative.

We were given separate assignments when we were called into Perry's office right after Clark got back from splitting up the gang thing. I think Perry noticed the tension between us. That many unspoken words will do that.

Anyway, Clark was sent to cover reparations of the inner city section of Metropolis. Chief wanted to know what affect the earthquake was having in the slums, and if the recent flux in gang violence was at all connected. That meant Clark would be out of the office until the piece was done; a lot of pavement to pound. Before the morning he brought me a caramel macchiato I would've been worried about his safety, going into the slums all alone. I know better now. I don't know _what_ Perry's thinking, though.

I was surprised when I wasn't even assigned a Superman story. All he wanted me to do was finish up the filler piece Clark and I had been working on while we waited for a bigger story, and then head down to the docks to get the inside scoop on the kryptonite removal in the harbor.

Basically, our weeks were busy. We didn't more than see each other in passing all week. Score one for Perry if that's what he was aiming for, and it probably was. Unfortunately, that means that we haven't had a chance to talk and I've had a chance to simmer. And to remember.

My memories have been coming back in flashes since he basically told me who he is. At first I just couldn't get over the fact that I hadn't realized it sooner. Then, the night after he took me flying, it started to come back. I was lying in bed with Richard, who was snoring rather loudly, and just thinking. All of a sudden it started seeping back. I fell asleep thinking about it, and woke up _remembering_.

Clark is lucky he was out of the bullpen that entire day. There was a hostage situation in Russia Superman had to attend to, and then Clark got an incredible interview out of the slums that nearly had Perry bouncing up and down. He was even too busy to notice my death glare. I kept my lips shut, though; I didn't have everything back yet.

Now I do.

It took a week, but now I think I've got everything. Niagara Falls, the awful honeymoon suite, figuring him out and getting him to admit it, the flight to the Fortress, everything he did for me at the Fortress, everything that happened afterwards, his defeat of Zod, the kiss that took it all away. It's incredible. And, while my love for him has increased exponentially, I've still been sitting here for a week simmering about the fact that he took it all away.

I suppose he has to live with it, though. I saw a bit of it in his eyes when we went flying after he left the hospital. He regrets taking the memories away, but he did it because he thought I was suffering. That made it worse, though, when I gave birth to a boy with his eyes without the memory of ever sleeping with him. That was one of the most confusing times of my life. Now it makes sense, though.

So, here I am, on the roof again- wishing I hadn't thrown away all my cigarettes and gone cold turkey. What a week to quit, too.

A slight change in the wind and the almost nonexistent noise of his flapping cape alert me to his presence behind me, but I don't turn. It's _way_ too early for this conversation. I arrived at the bullpen less than a half an hour ago. Of course, the reason I'm up here is that Perry finally assigned me another Superman exclusive. I'm here to talk to him. I even have a list of questions for him to answer, because I know that I won't be able to think of proper interview questions once I turn around and see him there. This is way too complicated.

I turn around just as a blast of cool wind comes whipping around us; he barely flinches. I suppose it doesn't bother him. Lucky guy. The blast of cool wind, however, if followed by a sheet of cold rain. I groan, looking up at the sky.

"Great," I mumble and see that he's smiling. It's an honest smile, like the one I saw when we went flying, not like the exuberantly overdone smiles he gives people in the bullpen, or the tiniest smirk he gives photographers as Superman. I guess this is the real Clark-Superman. Let's call him Kal-El. This is Kal-El standing in front of me. "Um, could you… could we," I sigh, my mouth isn't listening to my brain and I'm stammering like an idiot. "Would you mind taking this indoors?"

"Where would you like to go?" His voice is guarded. He doesn't know what to expect from me; he probably hasn't realized that I remember everything he's done for me. I would've laughed at the awkward Superman standing in front of me if it weren't raining so hard.

"Anywhere but up here," I pull my coat tighter, flipping the collar up. He seems to get it. "We could go to my house; it's empty right now. Or wherever you feel like. I suppose we could even go to some open field somewhere where its not really raining if you so choose."

He looks at me carefully. I'm trying to lighten the mood here, let him know that I'm not mad at him. It's not really working. He still looks nervous. He probably doesn't want to get too close to me.

"I promise I'm not packing kryptonite, now can we _please_ get out of the rain so we can talk? We've been dancing around it all week, and Perry wants another exclusive," I ask, sighing out the last half. He relaxes ever so slightly, crossing the distance between us. I bite my lip and stand on his feet, holding onto his forearms a bit awkwardly and not making eye contact.

Way to inspire confidence, Lane, sheesh.

The flight is quick, and quiet. He had the good sense to take us above the clouds so that the raindrops don't pulverize my not-so-invulnerable skin despite the cape wrapped around me.

We land in the same spot he dropped me off last time we were flying. Subtle, Kent. I fish my keys out of my purse, hopefully he doesn't notice my trembling hands, and I let us into the house through the front door. By the time we get inside he's wearing the lumpy suit and ugly tie again, his glasses folded and hanging from the spot above the first button of his vest.

We go down to the basement because I need a towel. I hadn't expected him to follow me, there was no reason to, but he does. I nearly jump when he puts a hand on my shoulder just as I'm about to start toweling my hair.

"I could, you know…" he trails off, looking out of place. He gestured to his eyes, which have a slight red glow to them. Biting my lip again, I nod. Heat vision would be a _great_ trick right now. I'm shivering so hard my teeth are chattering.

The sudden warmth stills my tremors immediately. He starts at the bottom and works his way up. The heat is gentle and calming. It's like a heat massage without the contact. My clothes are dry and so is the towel in my hands. He left my hair a little wet, but at least it isn't dripping onto my shoulders.

"Thanks," I manage awkwardly, folding the towel back into the bin where we keep them and leading him out into the downstairs living area. It's nothing special, lots of beige. The couch is really comfortable, though, and that's what I need right now. I sink into the cushions and he does the same on the opposite end. We start with the official business, the interview I need to write the next article. Its odd doing this with Clark, and even weirder when he gives the answers expected of Superman. The interview questions I wrote down go by fast, and I haven't got the presence of mind at the moment to ask any follow-up questions. Instead, we just stare at each other.

"Lois, I-" he starts, but I cut him off.

"Did you really think that taking away my memories would make it all better?" I ask. My voice comes out harsher than I meant it to, but I don't regret it. Not even when I see the pained look that flashes across his face before he mends his mask.

"It did. It made your life much easier... for awhile," he says so softly that I'm leaning forward so I can hear him.

"You weren't expecting Jason," it's a statement of fact but it comes across as an accusation.

"I wasn't," he says, but then he looks me straight in the eye. He never does that. Not as Clark or Superman; I think, now, that he was afraid I'd recognize him if he looked directly at me. It's not that he doesn't make eye contact; he just always does it in such a way that he's not facing me head-on like he is now. It's almost intimidating, but I won't let him intimidate me. I've got all these memories now; he's the gentlest person you could ever meet. "I don't regret what happened, though."

"Neither do I," I assure him quickly, holding his gaze for another second before looking down at my hands in my lap. "I just wish you'd left me with my memories."

"If I could give them back, I would," he says. I look up at him again. He's still looking at me, deep sadness in his eyes.

"You don't have to-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"But I shouldn't have taken them away. They were yours, it wasn't my place," he sighs. "I had a lot of time to think about it, Lois. Five years alone in space. I regret that most. That and not saying goodbye."

"Was it really too hard to just say goodbye?" I ask. It had hurt. Clark's impulsive departure more than Superman's, actually. Clark was my friend, my partner. He told me he was leaving, but he never really said goodbye. He'd been acting weird in those last weeks, which makes more sense now. Superman's departure jarred the world, and I had thought I was in love with him. It hurt to have the two men I was closest to disappear in the same week. Now it makes sense, of course, but still.

"If I had come to say goodbye," he replies slowly, "I would never have been able to leave. It was hard enough to face you with my memories every day at work," his voice catches in his throat.

"Clark," I say slowly, scooting just a bit closer to him on the sofa so that he looks up at me. "I remember."

"You what?"

"I remember," I repeat and he just stares at me. "After we went flying last week," I explain. "It just started coming back. The more I thought about it the more I remembered. I think just _knowing _there was something there made it easier to get at it."

"And…?" He prompts when I fall silent.

"I understand why you did it," I say slowly. I really don't know what to say to him, how to put what I want to say to him in words. "I was a mess," I chuckle but he remains serious. "I get it; I just wish you'd talked to me about it, maybe, or something. I… I don't know. I'm not mad at you, I don't think."

"You have every right to be _furious_," he says, his mouth quirking to the side ever so slightly, shaking his head.

"But I _can't_ be mad at you!" I'm closer on the sofa now. "You only did it because you were trying to help. And, yes, it _did_ help, just not in the long run. Hell, this makes you leaving make a lot more sense! I get it. And the memories… what you did for me," I bite my lip and look up at him, my hands fussing with my sleeves. He's practically holding his breath and the only reason I can tell is because I'm close enough to lean my forehead against him like I did before with barely a bend to my torso. I don't do that, though. Instead, I take his glasses off his vest and put them on his nose, pushing them up with a finger, staring at his eyes when they're covered. "You are my best friend, you are the father of my child," I pause. "I am hopelessly in love with you." I feel like an idiot the moment I say it, but I maintain eye contact like the stubborn oaf I am.

"Lois-" he starts again, but falls silent. We just stare at each other for a long time.

"I mean, God, Clark! We finish each others' sentences and Jason just gravitates toward you like he _knows_ or something," I sigh. "I can't believe I never suspected more after you came back."

"To your credit, Lois, I'm very good at keeping secrets," he's smiling and I smile back.

"Yes, you are," his smile drops a bit, but mine doesn't. "But I am too."

"What do you mean?" I sit back a little, immediately missing the warmth that comes whenever I'm close to him.

"What are we going to do about Richard? He's a good man. He was there when you weren't; he's been a great father to Jason."

"We don't have to get together because of what we had, 'Lo," he says, and I know it's hurting him to say it. "I want to be there for Jason, he's going to need it in these next few years, but you have Richard and so does Jason. Richard is a father to Jason in a way I never could be," I go to interrupt him but he shakes his head. The sadness in his eyes stops me more than the physical motion. "I don't have a normal life, Lois. I never have and I never will, it's just the way things are. You told me on the roof before- Richard is a good man, and I've been gone a long time. Richard is Jason's father, there's no way I can replace him in Jason's eyes, and I don't want to. He deserves a bit of normality while it lasts. And so do you. Richard loves you and you love him and I don't want to disrupt that... I can be Jason's teacher and his friend, but I gave up my place as his father when I left."

"Clark," I say, looking at him sitting there on the end of my basement sofa. He's the most powerful being on Earth, and he looks so vulnerable. My heart _hurts_ for him. I've read that in books before, it's cliché beyond any phrase that I would normally use, but it's what my heart is doing right now; almost physically aching to hear him say these things. "Richard _is _a good man, and he's been a father to Jason for the years that you've been gone. But he's not _you_. I'm not in love with him the way I'm in love with you. I wouldn't have given him a second glance it you were around-"

"But I _wasn't_ around, and you did, and now you have a life, Lois."

"Clark," I say sharply. He's put up the mask he wears as Superman, the one I never thought to try and see through until he took me flying last week. "My relationship with Richard has been falling apart for months now. Neither of us has wanted to admit it, but it has been; even before you came back. I can't explain it, I never could set a date for the wedding…" I clear my throat. It sounds awful, but the only reason I agreed to marry Richard was because I needed him to stick around and it would be hard to get him to do that if I refused him; everybody, even Richard, suspected Jason wasn't his son. "I love Richard, but I'm not _in love_ with him. I'm in love with you," he bites his lip and looks at me cautiously so I plow ahead. "You might not have been there for the first five years of Jason's life, and you won't be able to be there like somebody else could, but you're his father. He needs his father, and- I need you too. I promise I'm going to worry, and I promise I'm going to be a pain sometimes, but you're just going to have to live with that."

"Lois-" he starts again, but he stops himself.

"Don't tell me you don't love me, Clark."

"I love you, Lois," he says and I can't help but smile. Some of the hurt in my heart goes away as his face lightens. "I'm _in love_ with you. Very much so."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Because he _has _to do something. I'm sitting here setting everything in front of him. Baring my soul, if you will. I _never_ do that.

"I'm going to step back," he says evenly. I know my face drops; I can barely keep my mouth from dropping open. "You have a life, Lois. You have a great life. A life I can't give you even though you deserve it. I want you to have that life, even if it's with Richard and not with me."

"How can you ask me to go to him, to be with him, when I want to be with _you_?" I'm glaring at him as hard as I can. I wish I had heat vision so that I could burn a hole through his ugly, coffee-stained tie.

"Because I love you and if I let you come to me I won't be able to be with you like he could."

"No, Clark. _No_," I hear myself saying, but my insides have gone numb, my brain isn't in charge of what I'm saying anymore.

"We'll still see each other, it's not like I'm leaving again. We're partners."

"I don't want to just be your partner," I say, enunciating each word to make sure he gets it. I know that he does- his eyes.

"Please, 'Lo, just…" he trails off, sighing. He looks up through the ceiling and the walls of the house, his face grim. "I have to go."

"I know," I say. He gets a look when he hears trouble somewhere. "Just don't tell me you have to use the bathroom, or you're late to pick up your cat from the salon or something."

"I'm never going to lie to you again, Lois," he says softly. It hits me then just how close we still are. We're both standing up, him with a distant look on his face, and I'm determined to get my point across.

"You never should've felt the need to," I tell him. He looks down at me and there's something in his eyes that I can only describe as hope. Not hope so far as he's concerned, but hope of _me_ that he might give in and let me be with him if I push just a little harder.

"I know," he blurs a bit and he's wearing the Superman suit. I hold back for a split second before leaning up and kissing his cheek. It's more like the corner of his mouth, really, neither here nor there. He freezes for a brief second before opening his eyes and looking at me again. "Goodbye, Lois."

"I'll see you later," I tell him and watch as he disappears in a blur of color.

I sit on the sofa for another ten minutes or so, replaying the conversation in my mind. It's not that he doesn't want to be with me; it's that he's trying to do the 'right' thing. This whole situation isn't fair to Richard and Clark is the one taking the fall for it, in a way. I was the one who ran into Richard's arms when I missed my other blue-eyed friends. I was the one who let Richard think that Jason was his son. And now I am the one who is going to have to figure out how to break this all to Richard, who really is a good man who doesn't deserve any of this. And, in a way, that's the part that makes this all alright. It'll break Richard's heart, but he has to move on. I tried moving on and got pulled back into my past, not that I mind. If I hurt Richard, which I'm sure this will, I won't be able to pull him back, unconsciously or no.

This is going to be another difficult week.

- - -

Clark was a shadow all day. We were both busy working on finishing our stories. Clark's still deep in the poverty and gang impact story, and I've started writing out the interview we had this morning. It's nice to know that he's right there in case I need to ask about something concerning Superman. It was always one of the things I hated about writing about him; I wasn't sure what he'd think. Now I know he doesn't mind however I write about him- the look on his face when I handed him 'Why the World Needs Superman' right after he got out of the hospital was priceless. I swear he would've kissed me if we weren't in the middle of the bullpen and there wasn't an incredible amount of tension between us.

I've finally picked up the phone to call him. I was going to last night, and I was going to make a point to talk to him at work today, but the situation didn't present itself. I turned in my Superman article and the chief handed out another assignment to keep me busy 'til Clark finishes the story he's in the middle of. It's turning out to be much bigger than anybody anticipated. He's got that look in his eye that means he's onto something; something's going to break soon and he's going to have front page articles for a month. Good for him, I guess. I've got my share of front page material, and now I know where to find my source instead of going up and standing on the freezing cold rooftop for hours when I know he's off pounding some pavement or something.

Wow, when did I go soft? 'Good for him, I guess?' He's steeling what could be my byline and I'm _actually _alright with it.

"Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_," he says, picking up on the third ring.

"Clark, hi, it's me," I say, searching my brain for something, anything, intelligent to say to him.

"Hi," he says awkwardly. I hate that he's using that higher pitched voice that he always does around the office. It's not him, but it is. It's confusing and frustrating and I wish he would just come here and talk to me in his normal voice. But no, he can't come here. Richard's in the other room trying to get Jason to practice his piano and I'm here in the den hiding from my fiancé while I make a call to my partner. I don't blame Jason for not wanting to touch his keyboard and, though Richard knows that Jason was traumatized shortly after playing the piano on the yacht, Richard is still trying to get him to practice. Just another thing I want Clark to come and help with. He'll know how to talk Jason out of his fear of the piano, how to explain that it's alright, and teach him how to control the super-strength he inherited. Richard is trying to break through the fear as though he were breaking any other child out of any other simple childhood fright. The piano isn't the boogeyman, though. "Lois? Are you there?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I say, shaking myself and forcing my knees to bend and sit in the desk chair. If I pace, like I was, Richard will probably hear and think something's wrong and then he'll be a sweetheart about finding out what it is and comforting me, and I really don't want him to do that.

"What's wrong?" He asks, his voice dropping ever so slightly with worry. I almost want to laugh.

"Nothing's wrong," I assure him, "everything's just complicated."

"I'll agree with you there," he sighs. I can practically see him lounging back in his chair so far that the people around him are probably afraid he's going to tip over and knock over God-knows how many stacks of papers piled to one side of his desk. I hold back a laugh and it turns into a sigh very similar to Clark's.

"We need to talk," I tell him, crossing my legs beneath me and glaring at my computer screen. I have no new email with which to distract myself.

"Yes, we do."

"How close are you to being done with your story?"

"I've got everything written up that I can for now," he says, letting me change the subject. "We're kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can't publish half the stuff I got out of interviews until it does."

"Really?"

"Yeah, lots of anonymous sources, too. It's been hard putting this all together and still proving all my facts."

"I'll say," I smirk. Clark is very generous when it comes to anonymity for his sources but he's also very good at getting stuff together in such a way that it doesn't matter. He's the only reporter I know who can hand out anonymity like candy and not have his writing suffer for it. He's also the only reporter who can do that and not get noticed at all for his genius.

"You didn't call me to talk about my story, 'Lo," he reminds me and I sigh again.

"I know."

"I already told you where I think we should go from here so far as, you know," he says cryptically. Damn him for being in the crowded bullpen when I want to have a private chat with him.

"I know. And I already told you that I completely disagree with you."

"What do _you_ want to do?" He asks.

"I want to be with you, Clark," I tell him simply and I can hear him gearing up to recite that same schpiel he fed me earlier. "And you can stop right there with the schpiel. I've heard it, and I know why you're doing it. You and your insanely moral morals," my throat tries to sigh and laugh at the same time and I end up choking on the air, sounding almost tearful. I clear my throat and drive ahead. "Can't you let me make the decision on this one?"

"Lois," he says calmly. "You know how I feel and you know why I feel that way."

"Yes, I do."

"I don't understand why you can't accept the way things have to be, then."

"Because they don't _have_ to be that way!" I check myself and take a breath before I get so loud that Richard hears in the other room. Jason has probably already heard and it probably isn't helping his fragile mood. "I told you. Things are not that good here. Jason needs you. _You_."

"I promise I'll be there for him, Lois. I promise I'll teach him what he needs to know and be his friend. Like I said earlier, though, I cannot be his father."

"Stop trying to be so righteous. Stop trying to always do the right thing. Be a little selfish for once!" I say in a harsh whisper, gripping the mouse a little harder than I should. I felt like screaming at him. His dumb alien brain just doesn't get it! Instead of yelling and trying to persuade him, I just slammed the phone down and glared at it instead of the computer screen. If I had heat vision the thing probably would be a pool of molten plastic. I wonder how he controls it sometimes. Clark has always had a very even temper, but I've seen him angry before. He's almost scary when he's angry, and the only reason he's not scary is because I know he'll never act on his temper.

"Mommy, Dad says it's time for dinner," Jason says, poking his head in through the door.

"Alright, sweety, I'll be right out," I say, leaning back in the chair. I don't know what I'm going to tell Jason. Clark said that he already knows everything, and that he seems okay with it, but I really should talk to him about it. Especially about the piano. We haven't talked about the piano yet. And now Richard is putting pressure on him to get back to his lessons… I'll have to talk to them both very soon.

Right as I'm getting up to go wash my hands for dinner the computer dings, letting me know I have new email. It's from Clark. He's coming over tonight, late, when we can talk face to face and I can't hang up on him. I delete it; it's the last thing I'd want Richard to find.

Dinner is awkward. Richard knows something is up but he either doesn't know how or doesn't want to talk about it. This will end in a shouting match, no doubt. I know I can win any fight Richard tries to put out, but I'm not sure if I want to. I have to talk to Clark before I talk to Richard, and I want to talk to Jason, ask his opinion, before I do anything that might hurt Richard.

My life is _way_ too complicated.

- - -

True to his word, Superman landed softly in front of me in the middle of my front yard where he's landed with me multiple times in recent weeks. Jason has been in bed for the better part of an hour, and Richard is nowhere to be found. I checked before I came out here. I can only assume that the neighborhood is sleeping, too, if Clark just lands here like this.

"Your phone etiquette sucks," he says levelly, folding his arms across his chest. I can't help but smile. It's something purely Clark coming out of Superman's mouth, and it helps me put the pair of them together. The suit makes him look so aloof and alien, and that's not the part of him I want to talk to.

"Sorry," I say kind of shortly. "I wanted to scream at you and I didn't think it was the time or place to be doing it."

"I understand," again with the aloof calm. He's driving me crazy. I would've hung up on him again if we were on the phone.

"Why don't you want to be the father to your own son?" I ask, knowing the words would get through to him. His shoulders slump and his face is creased with pain.

"Is that what you think?"

"No, but it's the impression that you're giving," I tell him, glaring. "I _know_ you, Clark. I _know_ that you'd be here for Jason and me in a heartbeat, and I _know_ that you want to be father and husband," I'm surprised when the 'h-word' doesn't even catch in my throat. "But what you've been saying, proposing… you're giving the impression that you don't care. That you don't want to be here. That you don't want to be part of your own son's life."

"I do, more than anything," his voice is almost a whisper. His arms are still folded in front of him, but they're loose; its just habit that keeps them there, not any sort of physical strength. "Being close to me, though, it puts you both in danger."

"Is that what this is about? You're worrying about the bad guys?!"

"Just look at what happened last week with Luthor…"

"I was dumb enough to wander onto Luthor's yacht of my own free, idiotic will last week, Clark," I remind him. "And he kept me there because I'm me, not because of any connection to you."

"What about Zod? You remember that, now," he looks guilty but only for a split second. "If anything ever happened to you because of your connection to me, 'Lo- if anything happened to Jason… If anybody ever found out that he's _my_ son…"

"Luthor already knows he's your son."

"What?"

"On the yacht, when Jason threw the piano," I pause. Clark obviously hasn't really thought about the whole piano thing just yet. "It was kind of obvious where he got that strength from."

"Luthor knows…" he repeats, a hand going up to cover his mouth and chin while he stares at me somewhere between disbelief and horror. There's another expression I never like seeing on Clark's face. He's scared. I know more than anybody that he's not an aloof, emotionless alien, but it's nice to fool myself sometimes into thinking that he's better than things like anger and fear. But nobody is better than those two things, and his willingness to let _me_ see when he's feeling these things makes me love him all the more.

"Which is another great reason for you to stick around. You can protect us better than Richard ever could, and my being with you as Clark and telling people _you're_ Jason's biological father could make Luthor doubt himself."

"How can he doubt a piano that was thrown across the room?"

"Maybe the tilt of the cabin was just right and he had just enough adrenaline when he pushed it."

"Maybe."

"He didn't react to the kryptonite," I say and he looks relieved. We've barely had any time to talk about what happened on the yacht, we've been too busy talking about us, which really should be taking second seat to our son. The reaction just proves his paternal feelings are there somewhere; what father would want his son to suffer the same hurt if it could be prevented?

"I-" he starts, but then cuts off, looking through the house and probably out past the harbor. Is it possible that he's using these emergencies as excuses, twitching like that to escape this conversation? "It's Jason," he says and I immediately forget all thoughts of pretend. "He's upset, Lois, he's by the fire with Richard."

"What happened?" I ask, already taking a few steps towards the side gate.

"I don't know, I wasn't listening," he frowns. "Lois, I promise, I'm always around, but you need to talk to Richard and decide where you stand with him before you can decide where you and I stand."

"It's my choice?" I ask, wondering if he'd really let me choose him, he does seem to be bending in his 'stand aside' approach.

"You should go to Jason, 'Lo."

"You could too, you know."

"Not this time," he says, looking through the house with worried eyes.

The sound of his cape flapping gently in the wind as he makes his way off to protect the world sticks in my ears until the side gate is closed behind me and I'm in the backyard. Jason and Richard are crouching over the firepit, a fire quickly growing as Richard adds sheets of paper. Jason is holding one such sheet, the bottom edges slightly charred, and sobbing. Jason never cries in front of Richard, just like I don't. I don't know why my little boy won't cry in front of his daddy, but I think it might be my fault for never letting Richard see me cry.

"No, Jason, he left because he didn't want you," Richard says quietly, coldly. He pours himself a glass of wine, filling it almost to the brim. Jason's tears fall more steadily down his cheeks, his eyes confused. My heart hurts for my little boy the way it did for his dad only yesterday.

"Richard," I say sharply. Another handful of Jason's crayon drawings and a few clippings of my work, articles written with Clark go into the fire. Jason looks like he might lean forward and grab them right out of the flames, so I step closer. He might be Superman's son, but he's not invulnerable just yet.

"Lois," Richard replies, turning around to look at me coldly.

"Superman didn't even know about Jason until he got back," I tell him calmly.

"And why would he want a bastard son?" Everything that I've been talking to with Clark flies into my head. Clark's pain at leaving me alone and pregnant, the fact that he would take my memories of our time together away if it meant I got to live a peaceful life, his visible want and need to be close to his son but the distance he's trying to keep to protect us. Damn hero complex.

"Why are you burning my pictures, Daddy?" Jason asks as Richard drops another handful onto the flames. I can see the wax melting as the paper burns beneath it. It would be almost beautiful if they weren't the drawings that Jason spends hours perfecting every afternoon at the _Daily Planet_.

"You don't deserve them," Richard whispers, but it sounds more like he's talking to himself, or maybe Superman—not Jason. Jason bites his lip, holding back more tears, not realizing Richard was focused elsewhere. Not that it really makes a difference who he's addressing. I fight down my urge to hit Richard and scoop Jason up into my arms. He buries his head in my shoulder and lets the tears fall. I turn and start walking away.

"I don't him to be my Daddy anymore," Jason says and Richard stiffens ever so slightly when he hears. I hold him a little closer. When we're out of earshot, Jason whispers, "Why can't Superman be my only Daddy?"

"Sh," I say, rubbing the back of his head like I did when he was a baby and he wouldn't sleep. Actually, it was usually just after Richard finished holding him and had had no luck at putting little Jason down for the night. He was so young and yet I think he knew Richard wasn't in his blood and it upset him. "Sh," I say again, more to myself than him. I feel my own tears leaking out of the sides of my eyes, and my cheeks are wet by the time we get upstairs to Jason's room. I set him on the bed and wipe the tears off his face with a gentle thumb; he does to same for me with his small hands. "Daddy's just having a bad day, honey," I say in my most soothing voice. He gives me a look that says 'I don't believe you, but thanks for trying.' I swallow and rub another tear off his cheek. "Don't listen to anything he says. I'll go save your drawings for you," I assure him.

"I love you, Mommy," he says, sitting up and hugging me. I squeeze him back and hold onto him until his tears stop and his body relaxes in my arms. He's close enough to sleep so that if I tuck him in he won't get up and go look out his window for Clark in the sky.

"Why are you doing this, Richard?" I ask when I make it down to the fire.

"Why am I doing what?" He asks in the same almost nonchalant tone. His cheeks are flushed slightly from the wine, though it could just be the firelight.

"Why did you say those things to Jason? Why are you burning the drawings he worked so hard on?"

"They're true," he sneers, tossing another drawing to the flames.

"That Superman left because he didn't want Jason? That's _not_ true," I say, barely able to keep my voice down. I want to yell at him just like I wanted to yell at Clark on the phone today, only this time much worse. "He didn't even know I was pregnant," I hiss, glaring at him.

"What, then, he didn't want you?" His voice is quiet, threatening. I have to bite my lip to keep from telling him the whole story, about all the things Clark gave up for me, the things he's done in hopes of keeping me happy. My hands ball themselves into fists and I know I'm glaring. Actually, I'm wishing I had heat vision so that I could incinerate him. "Don't have anything to say to that, Lois?" He asks, mocking.

"You're drunk Richard," I say once I've got my temper under control. Kudos to Clark for those looks he's given me in years long past when I get wound up. I have no idea how he does it, but those calm looks he always manages in the moments where I let my anger go crazy always seems to pull me back to reality; now just picturing his face giving me that calm look helps me cool off.

"That doesn't make it less true," he sneers and I have to picture Clark's calming look in my mind's eye again. "He's not even human."

My eyes snap open, tears leaking out around my eyelashes. Clark may not be biologically human, but he acts more human every moment of every day than Richard is right now. Or maybe not. Clark _is_ able to keep his calm at unnatural times. It's only human that Richard reacts like this when he feels threatened by another man, but I don't understand where he got the idea from. I haven't talked to him about it, and anything he could've overheard would've pointed to Clark Kent as Jason's dad, not Superman. Maybe he'd rather it be Superman than Clark because Superman is always perceived as above all of us. He wouldn't feel so bad losing to Superman as to Clark.

"He's more than any of us could dream to be," I say honestly.

"He can _fly_, Lois. Those amazing physical skills are about all he's got going for him," Richard sneers. I walk over and take the drawings from him; there are only a few left. I just leave the articles there; there are plenty more copies of those and I don't need them lying around anything. He flinches away when I come close as though he thought I was going to hit him. The flinch is more satisfying than any hit could actually be. When I retreat again Richard seems to think its okay to start talking again. "He's got great ideals, but he doesn't actually do anything. Sure, he saves kids out of school buses in lakes and stops a high rise suicide jumper every now and again, but he could do so much more. There are wars, genocides, going on all over the world. What's he doing about those? Nothing. Hell, there's that huge gang war going on in the slums and the most he's done is pull apart the lead members when they were about to shoot at each other. What's so great about a guy who has so much power and does so little with it?" I have to bite my tongue to keep from talking. Clark is a smart guy. He knows he can have a wider impact where the people in the slums are concerned through his editorials about them. He writes humanitarian pieces, getting the word out. So far as wars go, they're _our_ wars. Human wars. He saves the helpless and the innocent, not those who throw themselves into a war willingly. I don't know what he does about genocide besides his humanitarian pieces, but I'm sure he's doing something. He wouldn't be Superman if he weren't. Maybe it's just behind the scenes, away from the public eye. Sometimes that's what works best.

"What are _you_ doing about genocide?" I ask him, crossing my arms in front of me. He doesn't have an answer and looks quite unbalanced for a moment, opening and closing his mouth kind of like a fish. Then he shakes his head and glares again.

"Don't change the subject," he spits, and drops the last of the newspaper clippings on to the fire before stomping up towards the house. We're on the stairs before he speaks again, turning around to look down at me as I follow him up the stairs, Jason's drawings held tightly in my hand. "I _heard_ you and Clark today, Lois," he tells me. I pray Jason isn't still awake because if he is, he can hear us just fine. "I don't care who his father is, the boy doesn't deserve any of us. He deserves to be deserted. He deserves to be _alone_. Just like you," his voice is low and my first thoughts are of getting off the staircase that it would be very easy for him to push me down. My next thoughts are blind outrage that he would talk about the boy we've raised together for the past five years the way he is.

"Jason deserves a father and much more," I say quietly, I don't want to wake Jason if he's asleep and I don't want him to hear if he isn't. "What's wrong with you? Do you think that even though you're not his biological father- that that changes anything? You're still his dad, Richard. You've been the one to be there for him."

"So you knew! You _knew _I wasn't- I'm not- his biological father?"

"No, Richard," I force my voice to remain calm and quiet, and it probably infuriates him all the more. "I didn't realize he wasn't yours until recently."

"Right, of course," he says, not believing me. How do I explain that I had my memory erased by an over-caring boyfriend? That I got those memories back and everything made a _lot_ more sense? "What, you just woke up one morning, took at look at the kid, and realized he wasn't mine?"

"Pretty much," I say coldly. I can't feel anything for this man in front of me at the moment. I was in love with him at one point. I was angry at Clark, then, at both sides of him. I didn't remember the time we'd spent together, so moving on to another guy just made sense. Initially, I flung myself at Richard and he seemed to be just as willing as I was. Then I was pregnant and we thought it was his. During the pregnancy I'd have dreams about the night I spent with Clark, but I just thought they were my imagination and my frustration towards him playing up in my subconscious. Now I know better. Richard is a good man, though. I've never wanted to hurt him, but his behavior right now isn't helping me try to stick it out with him like Clark thinks we should. He's being deserted, as far as he's concerned, and Jason is the one he's seeing the desertion swing around. True, Jason physically ties me to Clark, but even without Jason I'd be tied to Clark; he'll never get that, though.

"How could you, Lois?" He asks, all the inevitable hurt I'd been hoping to avoid showing through. "How could you use me like this?"

"I didn't!" I say, and then amend. "I didn't mean to! I never meant to hurt you, Richard!"

"Fuck off," he says, the hurt leaving his face and being replaced with cold, hard anger. "I don't want to see you or that bastard…" he stops. He seems to realize what he's saying, but it's too late to take anything back so far as I'm concerned. I can hear Jason crying in his bedroom a few doors down, and push past Richard on the stairs to get to my son.

"Jason," I whisper, stepping into the dark bedroom and closing the door behind me. The curtains waft in the breeze and I bite down on my lip. My little boy is curled up on the bed, Clark's arms wrapped tightly around him. Clark has a haunted look in his eyes; Jason's eyes are squeezed tightly shut, his fingers digging into Clark's blue clad arm. "Oh, Jason," I practically sob, setting the drawings on the table and joining them on the bed. Jason shifts into my lap, but his fingers stay wrapped around Clark's arm, his knuckles turning white in the death grip.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jason," Clark whispers softly, disengaging his son's fingers and holding them loosely in his own. I hold onto my son tighter as his breath catches in his throat.

We shift around; somehow I'm sitting between Clark's legs, leaning against his chest with Jason lying across my chest. Clark has an arm under mine, his hand drawing soft circles across Jason's back. His other hand is on my waist, holding me close and still as I drift off to sleep myself.

I wake up the next morning at sunrise. Clark is gone, but Jason is still holding onto me. We're tucked into Jason's bed, the Batman sheets spread smoothly over both of us. I look around without moving and my eyes fall on Richard. He's standing in the doorway, looking at us. He doesn't look like he's slept a minute.

Good.

- - -

I'm sitting on Jason's bed that night when Clark flies back through the window. Thank God he changed his mind about the distance thing in the past twenty-four hours. Jason's already at Clark's apartment. I got a glimpse of the pair of them flying away when I turned away from Richard. He fell asleep on the couch in the living room, he wouldn't look at me.

"Hey," Clark says, coming to sit on the bed next to me. I wasn't able to cry this time, but there's an empty spot inside me where the trust and happiness I had with Richard used to be.

"I wish you'd never left," I say, leaning into Clark's warm side, feeling his muscles bunch as he puts his arm around me to hold me close.

"Me too," he whispers, running his hand lightly over my back. We just sit there for a minute, relaxing together in the peace and quiet of our son's room. It's empty but for four huge suitcases I spent the last half hour packing. All my clothes are in two of them, the last of Jason's clothes and all his medicine in another. The third is half full with my trinkets from around the house, waiting to be filled with Jason's things from his room.

"We should finish packing," I whisper after a minute or so. Clark almost jumped- I think he was trying to get me to fall asleep so he would be the one to deal with packing up and spiriting things away. We disentangle ourselves and he speeds around the room and has everything in the suitcase before I get the sheets off the bed.

"Do you want me to take you or the bags first?" He asks, ignoring my glare at him for his use of super-speed.

"The bags," I decide. "If Richard wakes up and comes up here… I'd rather give him an explanation than him seeing you come in and take a couple bags away."

"Alright," he says evenly, though I can see the emotions warring behind his eyes. He crosses the room and kisses my forehead tenderly before taking all four suitcases and disappearing out the window. My neighbors wouldn't be happy to know just how much they're missing by actually sleeping at night these days.

It only took Clark five minutes to drop the bags off and come back to get me. I spent it on Jason's bare mattress, thinking about everything and nothing. The man asleep on the couch downstairs is a good man; he's just having a very bad week. I can't blame him for his reaction, but I can't stay with him either. Jason really doesn't know why his daddy is being so mean, but he does. This is way too complicated for all of us. I don't know how I'd change it though. I love Clark, but I also have some love for Richard. Admittedly, I'm much more in love with Clark than with Richard.

The smart thing to do would be to move to the _Planet's _sister paper in London or something, away from both of them. But that wouldn't work. Clark happens to be able to fly faster than the speed of sound, and Richard is head of the international section so I'd have to be in contact with him, more than likely. Besides, I don't want to leave the life I have here, even if it means dramatic change. I'll live with Clark and our son and work at the _Daily Planet_ just like I'd dreamt of doing since I was twelve. The working at the _Planet_ part, not living with Clark- I didn't know him when I was twelve.

I almost laugh at myself for that thought, but that's when I notice that he's back and watching me from just inside the window.

"Ready?" He asks, holding out a hand.

"Yes," I say, not sounding ready at all. He ignores it though and so do I, and I take his hand and he holds me close as we lift off the floor and float out the window.

Jason is sound asleep in Clark's huge bed when we arrive, coming in through his bedroom window. We sneak out into the living room and I can see the overlarge suitcases stacked in the study. I just stand there by the couch, thinking and looking around, until Clark breaks into my thoughts with a steaming cup of tea, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and no glasses.

"Thank you for doing this for us," I tell him, sipping the tea he handed me and sitting next to him on the couch.

"I'd do anything for you, Lois," he says softly, and he means it. Most people just repeat that as an empty phrase, but coming from Clark I know he really would do anything for me. Even give me up, like he tried to do.

"It's the better choice, you know," I tell him and he just cocks a curious eyebrow, sipping his own tea. Decaf tea tastes better than decaf coffee; at least he has the sense of that. "Than trying to give each other up."

"Lois-" he starts but I don't let him finish, silencing him with a look. He just sighs and then smirks. "You're right, you know."

"I know," I smile confidently even though I'm not feeling quite so sure as I probably look, but he probably knows that. "Just promise not to try doing it again, if Richard tries to fight. I… Jason needs _you_, and I need you, and… I'd just like this," I gesture between us, "to work."

"I think I can try that," he replies after a moment, a smile cracking his face. I can't help but smile back.

I slept in his bed that night. Actually, I _tried_ to sleep in his bed that night. I lay there awake for hours thinking about everything, completely immersed in the smell of him. Jason was sound asleep, curled into my side, his feet freezing against my knees despite the fact that he'd been beneath the sheets for a good hour before I joined him. I guess inhuman warmth wasn't something he inherited from Clark, or maybe he just has incurably cold feet after six o'clock like his mother.

Clark came and went, using the hole in the living room wall. I could hear the soft rush of wind every time and the flapping of the tarp; I almost got out of bed to see what had happened. My inner journalist wouldn't sleep. That and, knowing Clark, his rescues probably hit him harder than he let any camera crews see and I'd like to be there for him. He checked on Jason and me close to one. I was drifting off to sleep, but I noticed him standing there in the doorway, watching the pair of us. His face was calm, but he smiled when he noticed I was awake. I smiled back and then, finally, fell asleep.

- - -

Jason and I both took the following day off. Jason went back to school the day after, he'd missed it. He adjusted remarkably well, setting about replacing the drawings Richard had put in the fire. It's probably not healthy, but he won't talk about the change. He seems really happy to be with Clark. I'm not sure if it's because he likes Clark- they _were_ friends before he, well _I_, knew he was Superman- or if he just likes living with Superman. We'll have to talk about it eventually, but I'll let him adjust first.

I spent the first day keeping Jason busy. We spent the morning lazing around Clark's apartment, watching cartoons on Clark's lumpy green sofa. We went to the park after lunch and Jason ran around in the sun for hours. Clark flew overhead once, keeping an eye on us. Jason saw him before I did, of course- I'll never be sure, but I'm pretty certain he's already taking after Clark in the vision department. Like in the seaplane right after New Krypton. I don't know if he used x-ray vision to see through the water or if he has the microscopic or telescopic or whatever vision Clark has too. Or maybe he just saw the flash of red cape in the dark water. I'll never know, but, either way, he reminds me more of Clark every day. Now I'm looking for it now, though.

Clark's apartment isn't what I expected when I thought about where Clark Kent would live, but it isn't a place I would stick Superman, either. It's a lot like his old apartment, but with lots of subtle differences—like the hole in the wall covered by a tarp. The living room is lined with plain bookshelves filled with colorful books, the coffee table is as worn out as it was at his last apartment and bearing the signs of hurricane Lane—I'm pretty sure I'm the reason for a a number of the water rings on it. Most of those stains are covered by Jason's crayon drawings of Superman and his box of crayons. He's still got WWII and foreign film posters stuck in-between the bookshelves; most of the film posters are in different languages, which is something I'd expect more of Superman than Clark. Of course, they're the same person. I'm still trying to keep that in my head.

Clark came back early and made us a stir fry dinner. I've never tasted anything more delicious. He did it without turning on the stove just to amuse Jason. Not that I wasn't smiling like an idiot too.

Clark was acting natural, acting like himself.

There were no glasses, and no spit curl. He was still wearing his clothes from work, but he was wearing them better somehow. The suit was still too big but he had removed the ugly tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons. We could see the blue of the Suit beneath, but he still looked so much more comfortable. There was no too-high voice, no stutter, and no lame excuse when he had to set the skillet down and fly across town for ten minutes to deal with a fire in an office building a few blocks from the _Planet_.

It was a nice evening; it managed to keep my mind off everything for a good two hours. We ate, we laughed, we sat around the dinner table. Jason was exhausted by seven o'clock, which usually doesn't happen. Clark went out to do a scan of the city and I gave Jason a bath and put him to bed. Clark was back to give him a kiss goodnight, and then it was just the pair of us on the couch watching the news. It almost felt like we'd been doing this for years instead of a day.

"Don't leave ever again," I told him, holding onto his hands and facing him sideways on the couch.

"I won't," he said, pulling me closer by my hands and holding me close. I couldn't help myself; I wrapped my arms around his chest and held on. He was holding on just as tight, probably wanting to hold on tighter but restraining himself. "I won't," he repeated.

I spent the night there on the couch with him. He was in and out, just like last night, but this time I was there with him. I was right. He came back shaking twice out of the five times he went away. The first time he left was to another fire; it was in a suburban home, an electric fire. It killed the cat and left the young boy in the bedroom next to the living room where the fire started with burns over eighty percent of his body. I couldn't think of anything to say that would help, I've never been good at that sort of thing, so I just held onto him until he fell asleep, still in the suit. The second and third time weren't so hard. He jerked awake, hearing something I couldn't hear. I didn't even notice him leaving the second time; I'd been lying across his chest so he probably laid me on the couch without even waking me up. I barely stirred when he joined me again. It was the fourth time that he came back that he was shaking again. There had been a carjacking with an infant in the back seat. The carjacker had crashed the car, luckily not hurting the baby, but killing himself. Clark had brought the child to the hospital and then gone back for the mother that had been left in the parking lot. When he'd brought the mother to her infant at the hospital he'd gotten news that the boy from the earlier fire had died of his injuries.

"He looked like Jason, Lois," he whispered. "It's… it could've been… I _know_ I can't save everyone, but…so young, Lois. The boy was so young, and the baby in the car… I just don't get…" his throat closed up on him and again all I could do was hold onto him.

He left two minutes later for another rescue, so here I am, sitting on his couch with my knees pulled up to my chest in one of his big flannel shirts.

"Mommy?" Jason says from behind me, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. It's three a.m.

"Jason, are you okay?" He never gets out of bed; he's always been an extremely sound sleeper. That and he barely ever calls me mommy anymore, it's always mom.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"Why aren't _you_ asleep?" I ask before I can help myself. He knows me, though, and he just smiles, climbing up onto the couch next to me and waiting for my answer. "I'm waiting for Clark to come back."

"But you were sleeping last night."

"I was very tired last night."

"You're not tired tonight?"

"I had all day relaxing with you today," I say with a smile. "I'll be in to sleep after Clark comes back."

"Are you worried about him?"

"Let's get you back to bed, k?" He scowls at me as I pick him and start towards the bedroom before squirming out of my grasp and running towards the hole in the wall.

"Dad!"

"Hey, what're you doing up?" Clark looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders just seeing his son and being called dad.

"Mom wasn't in bed and I wondered where she went… Are you going to go to bed now too?" Jason had managed to practically climb up Clark's tall frame and was now settled in his arms.

"I was just going to sneak into the bedroom and grab my pajamas," he replied with a smile.

"Are you going to sleep in the bed tonight or on the couch again? Didn't that hurt your back?"

"My back would take more than the couch to make it hurt," he said, chuckling. Jason smiled back. "Let's get you back to bed and I'll grab my pajamas, alright?"

"M'kay," Jason said, though he had a look that said he hadn't forgotten the unanswered question.

Five minutes later, Jason was snoozing again and Clark was closing the bedroom door in flannel pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. My breath caught in my throat. It's weird to see him so normal and know that he's so much more. That and it's a rare treat to see his arms bare.

"Lois?" I snapped out of it. Sort of. It took everything I had to close my mouth and meet his eyes.

"Hm?"

"Are you okay? Your heart rate just skyrocketed."

Of course he'd notice my heart rate accelerate.

"I'm good, thanks," I couldn't contain an idiotic smile. He didn't look sure, but he smiled back. "How're you?" The smile fell off his face and any flirtation that had been between us dropped at the mention of the night's earlier happenings.

"I'm alright," he said after a moment, taking my hand and leading me back to the couch. "It's… It's nice to be able to come back and see you both here, especially with… when it's kids that need rescuing."

"If you let us, Clark," I say slowly, moving closer, "we could always be here to come back to."

He seems completely frozen, studying my face like I might be lying. I don't know what I can say that'll help him believe me. He gave me back my memories. I know that he will always be Superman, but I also know now that I don't mind. I'm okay with him having to run off right before dinner, like tonight, to save somebody's life. Just so long as he knows that I'm right here when he comes back. I only hope he can see all that in my face because I'm not sure how to word it to him.

"Lois," he says slowly again. I can see him preparing to distance himself like he did before, to tell me that I should go back to Richard or to anybody else who can give me a normal life.

No way in hell, bucko.

Before he can say another word, I scoot across the couch and put my hands on his cheeks, looking him in the eye for a moment before going for his mouth. He doesn't want to push me away- doesn't want to send me away and doesn't want to physically remove me from his person.

My senses explode when he returns the kiss. He's put all of himself into it, and it certainly isn't saying goodbye. Hell, if he keeps kissing me like this we'll have to buy a house so we can fit comfortably with Jason's little brother or sister.

His hands. Oh, God, his hands. How about just him in general? That about covers the experience right now. Every sense is completely submerged in Clark; the taste of his tongue against mine, the feel of his hair in my hands and his hands on my skin and in my hair, the smell that is uniquely his that has been filling my nose since we got here. His eyes are so blue and they're looking right at me, quite possibly through me, or maybe just through my shirt. That brings a smirk to my mouth and the slightest blush to his cheeks.

- - -

Jimmy knows just about everything. Apparently he and Perry both do.

Clark went into work for five short hours this afternoon.

I was surprised to wake up this morning to find myself naked across Clark's chest hovering a good four feet above the couch, the blanket we'd pulled around us as we fell asleep dangling towards the floor, almost slipping off. I'd spent a good five minutes trying to decide whether I should go back to sleep or wake him up. It was a surprise to be floating above the couch, not to have woken up in his arms in similar states of undress.

I'd just decided to go back to sleep when I heard Jason shifting, probably waking up, in the bedroom. I'd poked him awake and felt my stomach drop when we fell about a foot. We laughed at ourselves, put our pajamas back on, and got started on the usual morning activities.

I have no idea where we stand right now. It's too early to be moving on. I'm prepared to marry Clark tomorrow and get on with our lives, but people would talk. That and, in truth, we both need to adjust to having each other back.

Clark brought Jason to school by way of the Superman Express, meaning we'd overslept and had to rush transportation in order to get Jason breakfast. I called in again, having no need to face Richard, especially not with Clark on the mind. How can I be properly apologetic to the guy I left if the guy I left him for is just across the room? It would be cruel to Richard to have to see the pair of us together; I know it's probably hard for them just to be in the same building knowing what's between them.

And Jimmy and Perry know, I guess.

Well, I knew that Perry had some idea of what was going on. He's too smart not to have noticed a few things. I didn't know they knew about Jason's paternity, though. At most, I suspected Perry knew Richard and I were having problems, and Jimmy might've guessed somewhere along the same lines. Not that Jason is Clark's and I left Richard for Clark a little over a week after Clark came back.

That really doesn't look so good for me. I almost wish I could explain it to them, but I really don't have to.

So Clark rushed to work, rushed back. There were no extreme crises or calls for help, meaning we had an entire hour to ourselves. We had a late lunch, and then spent the rest of the time in the bedroom. Clark had the nerve to laugh at me as I struggled to get the suit off him. It was freaking complicated! As soon as he showed me, though, it made perfect sense. It won't be any trouble next time.

We got Jason at three, getting a huge smile when he saw that both of us had come to get him. Back home, Jason sat down at the coffee table and started drawing again. Clark was still in the jeans and t-shirt he'd thrown on when we went to hail a cab to get Jason, not having heard any cries for help. I'd been grabbing one of Clark's swearshirts when Jimmy knocked, not showing the shock we'd expected when Jason was the one to open the door.

But these pictures are wonderful. Jimmy is a great photographer, amazing really. Jason is one of his most willing subjects, and the photos of my little boy are great. Especially since Clark really doesn't have any pictures of his son; we can probably send one to Smallville too. Oh crap, Smallville. What and when are we going to tell Martha Kent?

Alright, not thinking about that right now.

The shot of Clark looking out at the office is so Clark. And I mean the _real_ Clark, not the persona he shows everybody else. It's probably not a good thing Jimmy managed to capture it on film, but it's still a really good picture. And then there's the one of the three of us right after we decided Jason and I would be coming to stay with Clark. Jimmy _really_ wasn't meant to see that, but I'm kind of glad he did.

"Mister Jimmy forgot his jacket," Jason said, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"What, honey?"

"Mister Jimmy forgot his jacket," he repeated, holding up the long tan jacket and frowning. Jimmy must've been really distracted to have forgotten his jacket- he'd taken it off right after coming in, obviously planning to stay and talk, but then he'd run out like he had somewhere to be. Clark was looking through the floor, presumably at Jimmy in the elevator below us. Then he smiled.

"He's coming back up for it."

Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I took the jacket from Jason and made my way to the door, opening it and stopping in my tracks.

"Richard."


	7. Through the Eyes of a Hero Again

"Richard," Lois says, standing there, her heart jumping from its calming resting rate to a hammering beat the second before the name leaves her lips.

What a way to top off a hellish week.

How did I not hear him? Of all the things to miss. I guess I was distracted by Jimmy's visit, the fact that Lois and Jason are both here in my apartment and happy to be here. Jason has finished off enough drawings to paper the hole in the wall—though I doubt they'd work well should there be any weather.

Between me and the door, Jason has already scooped all his crayon drawings and most of his crayons up to himself and is heading into the bedroom. I'm sure if I'd been looking I would've noticed a touch of super-speed in his movements, but I wasn't looking. I was too busy in my little staring contest with Richard, here. Unluckily for him, I'm from a different planet and I don't have to blink nearly as often as he does. In fact, humans blink rapidly, in my opinion—the only time I needed to blink as often as Lois or Jimmy was when I dove down into the seabed and was essentially moving through molten rock.

Ha, Richard blinked.

"We need to talk," he says, focusing on the still frozen Lois standing in the doorway.

"Uh," Lois manages, but I doubt anybody but I could hear her.

"Actually," I say. "I think it's _us_ that need to talk."

"Pardon?" Richard asks, staring at me; he looks caught between surprise that I would take the initiative and suggest a talk and confusion at the apparent change in my demeanor with the change of my clothes.

Instead of answering, I step past the coffee table now clear of Jason's beloved drawings, and come up behind Lois. She glances back at me with uncertainty in her eyes so I put a reassuring hand on the small of her back, where Richard won't see it.

"What're you going to say to him?" She asks, turning to look at the living room as she does though, as though she's just walking by me.

"The truth," I whisper, wondering how much of it I'll have to spill.

"All of it? Are you sure?"

"You said he's a good man," I whisper back. Richard backed up into the hall, waiting for me to join him there, patiently and politely looking toward the elevator so that we can have our conversation. Whatever his body language says, though, I can tell its killing him not to be the one standing with Lois.

"He wouldn't rat you out," she says after a second of thought. "I'm sure of it, no matter how mad he may be."

"That's all I needed to know."

She nods after a moment and walks to the bedroom door, knocking gently and calling for Jason. I close the door behind me as I hear Jason letting her in, leaving myself and Richard alone in the hallway. Jimmy is in the elevator on his way back up.

"Let's head to the roof," I suggest in the lightest voice I can manage, the pitch somewhere between my normal voice and the voice I use at the office. He follows without a response, his footsteps heavy on the floor.

The elevator door dings as the staircase door closes behind us. Crisis averted. The stairs are empty, as always—everybody in the building is much too lazy to use the stairs, and the smoke detectors are too good for anybody to sneak to the stairs for a smoke.

"I should thank you for raising my son while I was away," I say, again sounding casual, but this time letting my voice drop to its true octave. He just stares at me. His heart is racing, probably in anger; he certainly doesn't look happy. In fact, he looks like he'd like to hit me.

"So he's your son, then? Not Superman's," he grunts.

"He's mine."

"You're sure," now his voice is sly, aiming to infuriate me.

"Without a doubt."

"What did Lois tell you that makes you so sure? I don't think _she_ even really knows, I mean—the way I see it, he could be mine, yours, _or_ Superman's. Any way you look at it, it's not so good for Lois."

"I'm going to tell you a story, Richard, and after I've finished you can tell me who 'looks bad' in all this," I say, using air quotes bitterly. If anybody looks bad in this situation, it's me and Richard; me for leaving, him for driving them away. Again, he looks surprised at the deviation from my usual character. I turn away from him to look over the city I protect, and begin the story. "It starts when I was hired at the _Planet_ nine years ago. I have no idea _why_ your uncle hired me; I was even worse back then. I think, maybe, it was to tame Lois ever so slightly. He paired us together a lot at first, she'd offend our sources and I never felt guilty going and begging their forgiveness for the next interview we needed.

"There was a change, though, when he sent us undercover to a honeymoon resort at Niagara Falls. That's where she learned my secret," I glance back at him for a brief second. He's staring hard at my back, he can tell something isn't as he expected. Maybe it's the world-weary posture, maybe it's the deeper, more confident, though bitter, voice. I don't really care. "I'm Superman, Mr. White," his heart rate spikes dangerously and I pause just long enough to make sure he's not having a heart attack—he opens his mouth to interrupt, but I keep talking. "I was sent here upon Krypton's destruction, I was five years old when I crash-landed beside a country road in Kansas. Jonathan and Martha Kent picked me up and brought me home. I've often wondered what they were thinking that morning, pulling an alien from his spaceship and bringing him home," I can't help but chuckle. "Anyway, I grew up in Kansas as Clark Kent. I was always different—my hearing, strength, invulnerability—I didn't know I was from a different planet, though, until I was in high school.

"I left the farm after my dad died—heart attack—right after I finished high school. I went north, to my Fortress. I spent awhile there, studying, learning everything my biological parents had sent with me in my ship. Then I came back to civilization," I chuckle again, but not because of my story: Jimmy is getting his jacket downstairs. Lois told him I was up here talking to Richard and Jimmy's afraid for my safety. "It was vitally important that Superman and Clark Kent be two separate people; I couldn't be Superman all the time, I'd go mad; but I couldn't just stand by and let awful things happen when I could prevent it. To do that, I had to make sure my two halves were and are indeed two separate halves.

"At work, I was sure to be a complete klutz. You'll notice I've never done any severe damage, just enough small stuff to keep people from wanting to really get so close and risk getting their coffee all over their, or my, tie," he gives an involuntary snort of laughter and I turn to smile at him again. My glasses are off, my fingers futzing with the rims, as I turn back to the city. "Higher voice, slouching—things to put people off the trail. Then, as Superman, overplayed confidence, deeper voice, that sort of thing. Lois was the only one who ever got close enough to suspect. Jimmy too, I suppose, but he's oblivious in his own right.

"Lois was already suspicious of my identity when we went to Niagara Falls, and having to share a honeymoon suite for a weekend didn't make it any easier for me to keep her at bay—ditching her for rescues and having excuses for my disappearance," I sigh. "Well, she's_ Lois Lane_. She found me out.

"To make a long story short, we got together, I gave up my powers to live a normal life with her, General Zod attacked," another sigh. My life is sigh-worthy I guess. "No matter how much I wanted to be with Lois, I couldn't put her over the world—the lives that were winking out around me while Zod called for my appearance… She went back to Metropolis and I returned to the Fortress to get my abilities back. After everything, Lois was a mess. That's putting it lightly," I add, when Richard doesn't seem to believe me. "I've never seen Lois like that, and I'm hoping never to see her like that again…" I clear my throat and focus on the playground a few blocks over. I've been looking forward to bringing Jason there ever since I found out he was my son. I can hear the kids laughing from here; a group playing flush-tag, a little girl getting pushed on the swing by her older brother, the boy on the skateboard wiping out again. I refocus on Richard's racing heartbeat and continue my story. "I took away her memories of our time together; I thought it was for the best. A few months later, though, I couldn't stand it—going into work every day and being Lois and Clark, her without even the suspicious. Then I'd visit in the evenings as Superman for the interviews she needed," another sigh. Jeez. "I left about two months after the Niagara/Zod incident. Astronomers thought they'd found Krypton and it was getting more and more awkward with Lois—she kept, er, nevermind," I know I'm blushing, glad I'm facing away from Richard. She kept coming onto me as Superman after telling me her 'ingenious' plans to me as Clark. _Awkward_. "Let's just say that duplicity isn't my bar of soap. It's a five year journey from here to Krypton and back. It was a field of kryptonite-infested debris in space. I wish I'd never left.

"Everything had changed when I got back. 'Why the World Doesn't Need Superman' had been published, my mom was, is, dating our neighbor in Smallville, you and Lois were together, Jason…" I shake my head. "I didn't know she was pregnant when I left," I clear my throat again and turn to face him. "Anyway, you pretty much know what happened from there… she remembers everything now. I don't know how—but she does."

"What a relief for you," he says coldly, looking out over the city now, taking sideways glances at me. His heart is still racing, but he seems to be in a bit more control, processing the information I've given him. That's pretty much my entire story; the only other person who knows that much is Lois, now that she remembers everything.

We stand there for awhile, me waiting stoically for Richard to say or do something, Richard just standing there and staring out at the city.

"So which… what's…" he grinds his teeth. "What's your reality, then?"

"What?"

"What is your reality?" He repeats, slower, as though that makes the question easier to interpret.

"What do you mean?" I ask in the same slow rhythm, earning myself another glare.

"I mean," he said, pausing a moment to think. "I mean… how do you expect Lois and Jason," Jason's name hitched in his throat slightly, "to live normal lives when you're never around?"

"I'm always around," I tell him, smiling to myself, but he doesn't get it. "Richard," I pause to take a deep breath and allow myself to think of the proper way to phrase it. "My life isn't exactly normal, but it isn't so unique either. Plenty of people have more than one job, my second job just happens to be Superman."

We stand in silence for a moment, Richard considering that point of view but I don't think he gets it. Across the city, the kids at the park are heading home for afternoon snacks, talking nonstop as they go.

"What did you come here expecting, Richard?" I ask after hearing the first of the kids arrive home safely.

"Not this," he assures me. His heart rate and breathing are back to their normal rates, though his fists are still clenched.

"You should apologize to Lois and Jason… especially Jason."

"Apologize because they left?"

"Apologize because you made them think they should leave," I reply sharply, letting my temper get the better of me for a short moment. I am absolutely furious with this man in front of me; he's hurt the two people I care most about, two people I had thought he'd be alright to take care of. He raises an eyebrow, not understanding.

I frown at him, but then I hear it. It's second nature by now, tuning into disasters no matter what I'm supposed to be doing.

Earthquake in Japan. If I hadn't been spilling my life story to Richard I would've heard the first tremors and been able to begin evacuation.

A wave of guilt hits me, but I push it away; guilt is for later.

I twist into the suit and am up on the edge of the roof before I remember Richard. "You should speak to Lois," I tell him. "I'll be back when I can—we're not finished."

"Right," he says uncertainly, his eyes focused on the emblem on my chest. The emblem and I are both miles above and away a second later, though, the sonic boom echoing behind me.

- - -

It's nearing midnight when I've done as much as I can in Japan.

I take it slow on the way home, flying slowly, not breaking the sound barrier, above the clouds soaking up sunlight.

So many people have died today. The guilt is beginning to set in, and rightfully so. If I hadn't been focused on Richard, explaining things to him, helping him to move on, I would've heard, I could've gotten there sooner.

My eidetic memory won't let me forget anything, any of the people I'd pulled out of the wreckage of their homes, the faces I'd passed by as I transported the wounded. There was only relief in those faces, and that makes me feel even worse.

The worst of the quake was in full swing when I arrived. It hit a good-sized city on the southeastern coast, a city Lois probably couldn't pronounce let alone spell, the hardest. I spent my first hour on the scene in the city catching signs and parts of buildings as they fell. There was debris everywhere, cars abandoned in the roads, blocking emergency crews and ambulances. The two hospitals nearest the city worst affected by the quake lost power, switching to back-up generators; one of the hospitals lost their back-up generator, then, during an aftershock. I helped as much as I could, getting the critical patients to another nearby hospital that could take them, but my attention was focused on the newest victims.

Just as things were starting to look for the better, an aftershock nearly as bad as the earthquake itself hit. It was nearly two hours after the initial earthquake; most people had left the safe places they'd sought initially, venturing into streets to see the damage for themselves. They all wore the same shell-shocked look on their faces. The shell-shock turned to horror as the ground shook again and the buildings above swayed dangerously.

That, by far, was the worst quake since my return—including the New Krypton-induced quake in Metropolis. The Metropolis quake was bad because the buildings in Metropolis aren't built to withstand earthquakes—strong winds and hearty thunderstorms, yes, but not full-blown earthquakes. This quake was bad because it dragged on, the aftershocks extremely strong and spread far enough apart that people were sure there wouldn't be another when the next hit.

Bodies lined in the roads between the cars and around debris. The evening was spent catching debris as it fell or before it did—checking the tops of buildings for weak spots and welding them with heat-vision, or laying billboards flat on tops of buildings so that they didn't fall to the street. My main priority, though, was getting the people out. Many were trapped in collapsed buildings or beneath fallen debris. It would take rescue crews hours to lift something away that I could do in a few seconds, and even then they wouldn't be sure they were digging to find a living person, possibly injured, or a dead body. X-ray vision comes in handy there—it's best to leave the dead bodies for now and let the rescue crews get them out later, while I use my abilities to get the injured to hospitals.

There was a particularly awful moment when I came upon an orphanage full of children, the youngest only infants, the oldest around fifteen. It was a short building on the outskirts of the city, but a skyscraper had collapsed just right so that a good deal of debris had ended up on the orphanage. The children were terrified; the windows of their building layered with dust, blocking all light, the power out inside, a large portion of the roof collapsed in on itself, and there was a significant amount of debris piled close enough to all the doors going out so that the kids couldn't get out of the building. The roof had killed the head of the orphanage, leaving the children inside even worse off.

The older orphans were a help evacuating the younger ones, but they were traumatized as well.

Of all the horrors, though, it was the looters that got me.

Of all the tragedy the city had beheld, the rogue citizens just had to go and take advantage of the catastrophe. Everything was settled enough so that I didn't have to worry about falling debris, so I took care of a few of them, delivering them to the nearest police stations in a hurry between rescues.

To make matters worse, it was _pouring_ in Metropolis when I finally made it back. All the travel above the clouds on my way home seeped out of me when I dropped below the storm clouds; I was soaked to the skin immediately. Not that it takes all that much to soak through the Suit. It evaporates just as quickly, I suppose. Usually rain doesn't bother me, but it was just one of those nights.

I zone in on Lois and Jason's heartbeats as I approach the apartment; both are slow and steady, their breathing deep and relaxed. Both are asleep on the couch. I can't help but smile after I secure the tarp—they're lying back on the couch, probably fell asleep watching the movie that's now rolling its credits, casting a bluish light on the pair of them.

I adjust my body temperature and the water evaporates, leaving my hair a bit damp, but everything else perfectly dry. I pull off the bright red boots, setting them near the hole in the wall; I wouldn't want my footfalls to wake them. I suppose I could just fly, but I'm tired and I've always been partial to walking anyway.

I turn the TV off first, the room goes dark. The droning rain is loud enough so that it fills my ears, backing up the even beating of their heartbeats with the uneven percussive rhythm. Jason shifts when I pick him up, grabbing fistfuls of cape behind me and holding on. I have to pry his fingers away, trying not to wake him, when we get to the bedroom. Lois had the sense to put him in his pajamas before starting whatever movie it was they were watching.

I change into my own pajamas before going back out into the living room to get Lois. I pause a moment just to watch her. What the hell is she doing here with me? Not that I don't appreciate that she's here, that I don't want her here, but—what makes her _want_ to be here? It can't be just that I'm Jason's father and she's here for Jason's sake. She's Lois Lane. She could do fine on her own; my mother did after Dad died. I suppose Jason's dad didn't die, though. I just left for the first five years of his life.

Now there's a bitter thought.

"Clark?" Her voice snaps me out of my reverie.

"Hmm?"

"Were you just standing there watching me sleep?"

"Er, yeah," I fumble, glad when she just chuckles.

"How are you doing?" She asks, suddenly more serious. I quickly put up a calm mask, not wanting her to worry about anything; she narrows her eyes at me in the darkness.

"I'm fine, Lois."

"Yes, and I can turn into a shoe on command," she replies, scowling. I can't help but chuckle.

"Well, that's an amazing talent you have, then, 'Lo."

"Don't be like that," she says, reaching up and taking my hand.

- - -

I don't know how she managed to do it, but, once again, Lois managed to get rid of a good deal of guilt last night. We spent the night together on the couch again, Jason scowling when he came out to find us just waking up out there, leaving him to spend the night alone in my huge bed.

She explained that she had a very short conversation with Richard last night—he was a bit bewildered from our conversation on the roof, and Lois hadn't wanted to talk to him. She was mad at me for telling him to talk to her. I don't get it.

Richard won't tell anybody my secret—she reminded him of all the people whose lives would change drastically should the world find out, namely my mother, Lois and Jason, and, to a certain extent, everybody at the _Daily Planet_. He wasn't eager to let the pair of them go, but Lois was as bull-headed as ever. I think part of why she was mad at me about forcing that conversation, however stunted, was because she thought I was hoping she'd 'see the light' and go back with him. Like I would ever think of that. First of all, I'm satisfied with where we are, and satisfied isn't quiet the right word. Happy with where things are, sure, glad we are where we are, content. I don't know. But second of all, Jason got that pinched look on his face when he saw Richard in the doorway this afternoon, then he ran into a different room. Not only is it obvious he doesn't want Richard for a father, but he's going to be needing me around sometime soon if the rate at which he cleared his drawings up and got them out of the room is anything to go by.

So here I am, making morning rounds on my way to work this morning. Again, I'll be the only one of our little threesome going to the _Daily Planet_ today. Lois is going to take Jason to school, she'll actually be doing that about now, then she's going to spend the rest of the day working on her articles from home. She says she isn't ready to face Richard at the office yet, and I certainly don't blame her.

One last circle high above Metropolis and I drop from the sky onto the _Daily Planet_ rooftop. I change into my work clothes as quickly as I can without tearing them and head down the stairs to the top of the elevator shaft, getting inside and standing on the roof of the compartment while my coworkers unload. The compartment begins moving down again and I open the escape hatch and float down into the empty elevator, hitting the floor we just left to get the elevator moving back up.

The elevator dings unnecessarily loudly and I get off, letting the toe of my shoe hook on the corner of the elevator door and knocking into Jimmy as he passes with his arms full of thick three-ring binders full of photographs. It must be a slow day if Jimmy's getting the old _Planet_ photo albums out.

"Oh, hey CK!" Jimmy says as a greeting, taking a quick step back to maintain his stack of binders. They wouldn't have fallen, though, as I grabbed onto them when I 'fell' into him. There's an unfamiliar ticking in the bullpen and my mind flashes to bomb.

"Morning Jimmy!" I reply, voice high and falsely cheerful. I scan the room for bombs, filtering through the excess layers of sound to hone in on the ticking. I'm sure it just looks like I'm checking the bullpen out for who's here just yet—Jimmy will probably assume I'm looking for Richard.

"Miss Lane coming in today?" He asks, checking the elevator behind me for Lois; the doors close and he glances back at me. The ticking is coming from Perry's office; the reflective glass fades when I focus my vision properly and then I see it. Perry's got a new watch. An old-school watch. No digital readout on this thing, there are gears and tiny wires and quartz. _Why_ did Perry get a new watch? The rhythm is too precise for the bullpen, a room usually full of the sharp, uneven taps of fingers on keyboards, the beeping of cell phones, fluctuating tones of voices… natural noises. While I was gone all the clocks went digital; now the only thing that makes a real rhythm is the humming of electronic devices, which has a rhythm to it when you can listen to the sound waves as each wave passes if you know how to focus right, and I know how to focus.

"Oh, no. Not today," I reply with a shrug, pushing my glasses farther up my nose. Across town there's a bank robbery in progress; four men in ski masks have just loudly declared that everybody in the bank should get on the ground and that the tellers should step away from their windows. "She's d-doing phone interviews from home," I continue distractedly. What a way to start the day. I've already got to come up with an excuse to get out of here. "I'm actually headed out to get some interviews for that urban recovery piece I'm working on, just dropping off my briefcase," I give an overdone smile, showing too many teeth, before stumbling over to my desk.

It's not good to be distracted the way I am when I'm trying to walk across the bullpen and play the klutz. I'm listening to the rustle of bills being shoved into cloth sacks by leather-gloved hands across town and trying to wave cheerily to those I pass on the way to my desk, and trip in the proper places as well.

Around Stacia's desk, barely missing her coffee cup with my briefcase (she sighs with relief as I pass by without knocking it over); down the next row of desks, keeping carefully to the middle to avoid things; past the copy machines, knocking a sheaf of printer paper to the floor as I pass, it's still wrapped so it just takes a moment to bend and pick it up; hit my elbow as I stand up to put the paper back, pretend it hurts; continue to my desk without more than a stumble. Usually it would be funny to hear the relieved exhalations as I pass, but today I'm focused on the panicked breathing of those in the bank.

I put my briefcase in its usual spot, pull out my notebook and stuff it in my overcoat pocket so that the pocket bulges unnaturally. A pen stuck up behind my ear and I'm off again. Stacia has vacated her desk and is at the coffee maker with one of the copy boys (I'll have to warn him sometime later about her predatory nature when it comes to young men) and a copy editor whose name I 'forget' as often as I see her (she's Jill Worthington born and raised in Los Angeles, moved to New York after college and then to Metropolis following jobs).

"Oh no, he's going to pass my desk again," Stacia whispers to Jill, I doubt anybody but myself and the two people she's talking to heard her.

"Stacia," Jill chastises. "He's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" She asks, glaring. "This is the fifth coffee cup I've used since he got back less than a month ago!"

"Really?" The copy boy asks, snorting. "What a klutz."

Maybe I won't drop that hint for him about Stacia's nature. "He's an alright guy," Jill says, watching me walking across the bullpen. I'll have to remember to remember her name when she's around from now on.

I hit the elevator call button, glancing through the floor and finding that it's only a few away, but Richard is the one in it. He looks pensive and maybe a bit depressed. If I didn't know the cause of that look, I'd be sure to make a fool of myself in front of him to help him lighten up. Maybe I still should. Maybe it'll placate his mood.

Across town, the getaway driver is cussing because the robbers are running late. They're in the vault now, leaving only one in the main room holding a P90 on the gathered crowd. A silent alarm has been tripped, the police are on the move a few blocks away—their sirens are what has the driver worrying.

Across the bullpen, the ticking of Perry's watch intensifies as he opens his door. I forget how well soundproof glass filters things when I'm not focusing on them. "Staff meeting in the conference room in twenty barring any unforeseen news breaks!" Perry says, glancing briefly at me as his eyes scan the bullpen. I'll have to file that glance away for later.

Around me, photographers and reporters alike jump into action, trying to finish up projects before the expected meeting. The elevator dings and Richard looks up, his face freezing when he sees me. I drop my act, stepping into the elevator, loosening my tie. Richard raises an eyebrow.

"You might want to send someone to cover the robbery in progress in the Business District," I say in my natural voice, eyes boring into him.

"I'm sure you can handle it," he replies in monotone; he seems to be warring with himself. Should he enjoy knowing Superman's secret identity and covering for him or should he grudge me that service reluctantly? I simply nod once in response and punch the button lightly to close the doors behind Richard.

As soon as the doors are shut, I'm out of there. My clothes rumpled on the roof of the elevator compartment. No wonder I look so goofy, clothes developing severe wrinkle-itis in the middle of the day.

I flash across town in my primary suit, scanning the bank being robbed before dropping to the service entrance and lifting the getaway car off the road. The driver is _really_ cussing now. There's nobody watching in this back alley so I allow myself a smirk. This guy knows a _lot_ of words inappropriate for polite company; my mother would have a heart attack if she heard a single one of them.

I put the car on the roof after welding the doors shut with my heat vision. The driver has chosen to stare at me with his mouth wide open instead of continuing swearing or trying to break a window. That works for me.

I look through the rooftop below, locating the four masked robbers. The three that had been in the vault are heading toward the back exit, arms full of canvas bags which, in turn, are full of crisp bills. The faint scraping of the bills sliding over each other in the bag sends chills down my spine before I tune it out. The four running are armed, but the P90s are slung over their shoulders, hanging across their backs out of quick reach.

The last robber, the obvious leader, is still in the main room, threatening the tellers and customers alike. I recognize him when I refocus my vision so that I can see his face instead of his mask; Jacob Gwary, career criminal. I brought him in with his gang when he was nineteen just after I'd arrived as Superman—he received a community service sentence for the petty crimes he'd committed with the gang. I brought him in again when he was twenty-two for robbing two gas stations and a Radio Shack. He seemed to think that I was going to let him go on robbing places when I hadn't responded immediately when he was robbing the first gas station. If I remember correctly—and I do, no doubt about it—I was in Washington D.C. that afternoon at a Presidential press conference and I couldn't slip out without word getting back to Perry. Needless to say, I requested to shift my focus away from political things after that experience. Gwary was sentenced to ten years based on his history and his obvious intent to continue breaking the law; he probably got out early on good behavior.

The three robbers holding the canvas sacks full of money have made it out onto the back driveway and are looking for the car.

"Dude, where's the car?" One asks, he sounds very young.

"How the hell should I know? _You're _the one who found the guy," the second says.

"Nu'uh," the first says. "Jake knew that guy from the old days. You know 'im, Zeke? You used to run with Jake before he went to jail."

"Sure I know 'im, V was out most reliable guy. 'e never got caught and 'e drives damn fast," Zeke, the third guy, the oldest by far and most heavily armed as he carried a curved hunting knife and a handgun in addition to his P90. The way he's holding himself and the weapons suggest that he's ex-military—probably where the P90s came from.

"So where the hell is he?" The first asks, looking up and down the street; the second is shifting nervously.

"I knew this was a bad idea. I knew this would happen," he grunts. "Y'know, Superman is going to show up any minute. I don't care what Jake says about the big Boy Scout letting him get away with two before bringing him in, we're gonna get busted."

"You gonna run?" Zeke asks, his hand, hidden behind the canvas bag, drawing the handgun at his waist.

"So what if I might?" The second says, backing toward the street.

"I'll k—" Zeke starts but stops when he finds himself held by the collar a yard in the air. He just glowers at me, dropping the bag of money and pulling the handgun up to unload the clip in my face. I don't even blink. Do they never learn?

The other two have dropped the canvas sacks and taken off in opposite directions. As if that'll help. I have the three of them by the scruffs of their necks (jackets, really) in ten seconds, and only that slow so that I don't hurt them.

I have to pull the door off car to get these three in the car, but it's easily welded back into place. V, the driver, is still glaring wordlessly.

Maniacal laughter reaches my ears from below and I peer through the rooftop again. "You think he's coming to save you?" Gwary asks, holding his gun to a teller's head. He's having his 'fun' now, like he did at those other places he robbed all those years ago. It was disappointing—the evidence proving that he'd beaten a teller nearly to death ended up not being admissible in court on a technicality. If that evidence had been considered, he would still be in jail no matter how many asses he kissed.

"Yes," the teller, a woman in her forties wearing cheap earrings and a pinstriped suit Lois would probably like, replied confidently. It still touches me how much these people trust me. I should never have left; I abandoned them just as much as I abandoned Lois.

Let's just not think about that right now, eh?

Gwary is laughing again, the muscles in his trigger finger tensing slightly. The gun is pointing at her thigh, where it will hurt, and probably hit an artery.

The shot reverberates in the marble, vaulted main room of the bank. Several people yell or scream, flinching away from the source of the noise. The teller herself is lying perfectly still as though waiting for the pain to come.

It never will as I happen to have caught the bullet halfway between the gun and the intended victim. Gwary is caught between bewilderment and a hard glare. I remain impassive and silent, dropping the bullet to the floor; the clinking echoes in the silent room. The hostages all seem to breathe a sigh of relief without actually relaxing; the teller is sobbing, still frozen in place.

Without speaking, I walk toward Gwary. Like the others, he unloads his gun at me. Unlike when the others shot at me, there are innocents around to get him by the ricocheting bullets so I have to catch each one before or after it hits me. I suppose I'll look like I'm juggling invisible balls on the security footage.

Gwary finishes by throwing the P90 at me—I catch it easily—and running for the exit. It's pathetic, really. I speed around and cut him off, standing with my arms folded directly in his path. He runs straight into me and falls to the floor, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder where he impacted me. Allowing myself another slight smirk, I pick him up and bring him to the roof, welding him into the car with the others before speeding back downstairs.

"Is everybody alright?" I ask, helping the teller who'd almost been shot to her feet. She nods a little shakily, the others all nodding as well. They look between each other, confirming that they're all alright, agreeing as a group. "There's an ambulance en route; the EMTs will probably want to check you all over."

"Alright," is the shaky reply from the teller, the others nodding again. The police burst in the front door at that minute, guns drawn. They relax when they see me.

"The criminals are in their car on the roof," I inform them simply, as though a car on the roof is a normal thing. It _could_ be, I suppose. I'd have to be in the right mood, though, and I don't think it would be a very good idea. "These bags are full of what they had stolen when I apprehended them at the back exit."

"Thanks Superman, we can handle it from here," the first officer in the door says, putting his gun in the holster at his hip and walking over to shake my hand. I shake his hand, careful to control the pressure I apply. I nod in response to what he said and then walk out the front door of the bank to the approval of the crowd gathered across the street.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I rise into the sky and rocket towards the horizon, getting a nice sonic boom for my 'trouble.' It's been fifteen minutes since I left the _Planet_. I wonder if Perry still expects to have that meeting or if he's postponing it because of the robbery. A robbery in Metropolis isn't exactly newsworthy as several slip past me and the police on occasion. And a robbery makes good statistics, not a good news story—unless, of course, the robbery was successful or accompanied by a grisly murder. I suppose if I thought more like Lois I would've let the teller be shot to have a 'more exciting' story. I'm not Lois, though, and in all honesty I don't think she would choose to risk a woman's life for a story. Her own life certainly, but not somebody else's—especially not since she's become a mother.

- - -

The meeting went on as scheduled; I was almost late because I stopped on the way back to get Mrs. Ruffles, the tiniest and meanest kitten I've ever met, out of a rather tall maple tree in the park not far from where I created a crater that is still sectioned off by police tape.

Now Perry's been going on about the font sizes on various pages. I can't believe he called an all-staff meeting to have a conversation about font sizes. There isn't even anything interesting happening in the surrounding area for me to tune in on. Lois is taking a nap at home, curled up on the bed wearing one of my sweatshirts again. Jason is in music class—I'll gladly go to his performance when the time comes, but the clanking of twenty tambourines in the hands of kindergarteners isn't something I need to have ringing in my head no matter how 'cute' Lois tells me it is. I'm just glad they're not asking Jason to go anywhere near a piano; the first thing that I lifted, not on purpose, that I _knew_ shouldn't be something I could lift was a tractor, and I didn't go near any tractors for nearly three months after the incident and even then unwillingly.

Perry's watch is really loud when I'm in the same room with him, too. If he were holding a more interesting meeting I'm sure I'd be able to tune it out, but… font sizes. Yeah. I wonder if this is what people with ADD feel like when they're not on medication. I'm sitting in this meeting watching the gears turn in time with the ticking in Perry's watch, half-listening to the meeting going on around me.

I should be getting more sleep.

"Alright everybody, get going," Perry instructs, waving his arms at us to clear us out of the conference room. Distracted from the watch by the movement, I snap out of my daze and gather my notes, getting up from the table and managing to jam the wheel of my chair with my pen, which fell on the floor a while ago. I kneel down and futz with it, knocking several elbows with the chair as I do so. The pen comes free a second later and I get to my feet too fast, startling Jimmy, who was sitting next to me.

"You okay, CK? You seemed distracted all through the meeting," he says, sincerely concerned about me. At least I've got one friend at the _Planet_ today.

"I fine," I reply with a shrug, perhaps a little too deeply. Jimmy nods, easily believing me. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but Perry interrupts from across the table.

"Olsen, I want those prints on my desk in an hour."

"Sure Chief," Jimmy says, giving me a look before darting out of the room, slipping easily through the crowd.

"Don't call me chief," Perry mumbles, though nobody else hears because there's nobody left in the seats around him anymore. "Oh and Kent," he says and I startle a bit sheepishly, both as though he caught me off guard and as though I have something to be guilty for. I suppose I _do_ have something to be guilty of today—not paying attention to the most important font discussion of the year. Hopefully the _only_ font discussion of the year.

"Yeah, Chief?" I ask, halting my gathering of the story notes I'd brought with me expecting to be discussing the next issue's layout or something.

"I need to talk to you in my office after this," he says, sounding different than he had a moment ago. Whatever we're going to talk about its going to be personal, and that probably means my relationship with Lois and Jason and how that affected their relationship with Richard.

"Sure, Chief," I reply a bit uneasily. He nods and heads toward the door, making it out as easily as Jimmy despite the clogged doorway. I make it out last, being tall and broad has its advantages when it comes to procrastination. All the same, I'm wondering what Perry's planning to say. He's worried about it too, apparently, as his heart rate is going almost doublt the usual rate.

I follow Perry into his office and sit in the offered chair after following his order to close the blinds. An awkward tension hangs in the air between us as Perry tries to get his thoughts together enough to say whatever it is he wanted to say. His heart rate hasn't slowed in the least; he's just sitting there on the other side of the desk moving his pen around and not looking at me.

What could he possibly have to say to me that would make him so uncomfortable? There's no way it can have anything to do with my less than attentiveness in that meeting. Is there?

"What's wrong, chief?" I ask, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Wrong?" Perry asked, his eyebrows drawing together. "There's nothing wrong."

"Oh, well, I just," I shrug.

"Alright, Kent," Perry started again, leaning forward in his chair and looking at me over his laptop screen. He folded the screen down and pulled a manilla folder out of his desk drawer. He set the folder on the closed laptop and opened the folder to reveal a few of the photos Jimmy brought to the apartment yesterday.

The one on top is one I'd hoped Perry hadn't seen, the one of me looking out at the office. I'd just gotten back from a rescue and while I was away the energy in the bullpen had dropped to the lowest I'd noticed since my return; people just seemed worn out, like they all needed to go home for the night even though it was the middle of the afternoon. Maybe it was the rain, which had been falling almost nonstop that entire week, or maybe it was the reconstruction, which had been going so well initially and slowed to a standstill three days later. I don't know, but everybody was so run down it was all I could do to keep a goofy smile on my face and trip in front of them, letting them know that, though they weren't having the best day ever, at least they weren't bumbling fools like me. I'd just spotted Jan Marcstrom, one of the copy editors, sinking into her chair with her enth cup of coffee, looking like she needed another five or six to make up for the sleep she hadn't gotten the previous night, and a couple of aspirin; she was always tricky when she was down as she found my bumbling persona annoying, so knocking over a filing cabinet near her wouldn't do the trick.

Beneath that is the picture of Jason sleeping on my lap in the bullpen, Lois sitting on the desk across from me. I can still hear their heartbeats at that moment, both calm; Lois' had been racing the moment before as she panicked over Jason's whereabouts. It's a picture my mother would like.

"Er—" I say, shifting in my seat; there's not much I want to say about those pictures, not to him anyway. I have a few things I'd like to say to Jimmy…

Outside the bullpen is humming with activity—the international section has been busy covering the Japanese earthquake, the city section covering the continuing repairs and the recent flare in gang violence and the attempted bank robbery from earlier this morning, the health and lifetime sections working on a combined feature. Keys are clacking, reporters are setting up interviews over the phone, photographers yelling at each other about who should cover what. The ticking of Perry's new watch brings me back to the office and I find myself hard pressed not to blast the thing with heat vision just to stop the ticking.

"Kent, what's going on with you today?"

"Pardon?" I ask, surprised. Usually my senses don't overwhelm me like this—my hearing distracting me from everything else. It started with that watch this morning. Stupid watch.

"At the meeting just now—I don't think you heard a word," he chuckles, then frowns as he pulls the picture of Lois, Jason and myself from the folder, looking it over once before glancing up at me. I open my mouth to give an excuse but he brushes it away with a gesture. "How're they doing?"

"Pardon?" I ask again; though it's not an unexpected subject, I was under the impression that Perry didn't want to know what was going on, at least not from me. His heart rate has slowed now that he has the edge in the conversation.

"How are Jason and Lois?" He asks patiently. "Lois hasn't said much when she calls to let me know she won't be in every morning."

"She's planning to come back tomorrow—she just needed some time," I shrug. "Jason's… getting better," I say, thinking of his reaction to Richard yesterday.

"Richard said he talked to you," he says, watching me carefully. I have to force myself to remain relaxed, not quite making eye contact. Did Richard tell Perry? Lois said he'd promised not to say anything. I'm not sure how much I trust Richard right now, but who can really know what another person is thinking? Considering I'm technically a completely different species, I'm pretty sure I have the least amount of authority to make a guess Richard's thought processes of late out of everybody else on this planet. Perry smirks. "He didn't say much, but he did say that you sorted a few things out."

"Yes, we did," I reply, not giving anything away with my tone.

"You are good, aren't you," he says, smirking. Again, I freeze in my chair, this time studying Perry. I've been especially careful when it comes to my secrets and my boss for a long time. At first because I didn't want him to fire me for sneaking off all the time. When I got to know him better, though, it was because I knew that he would be able to see through my façade if he were looking into it.

"Chief?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I get it," he assures me. "You're keeping secrets to keep people safe. Hell, you're using your secrets to keep half my staff sane," he grins lopsidedly again, tapping the first portrait again. My eyebrow settles back to its usual position as I contemplate Perry across the desk; I probably look much as I did in the photograph in the folder on his desk. Perry's smirk falls as he looks me straight in the eye. It's a rare moment when I meet somebody's eye straight on, at least dressed in street clothes. Perry doesn't give much away, having been in the business as long as he has, but I can read some things in his face, his posture. He knows, it's that simple; he's just waiting for my reaction.

"How long have you known?" I ask plainly, my chin dipping down so that I can look at him over the top of my glasses. He seems surprised, but I just wait. I've finally managed to tune out the ticking of his new watch. Of course, as soon as I think of it I can hear it again. It's all I can do to keep from looking down at the blasted thing.

"Since Jason was born," he says quietly and I nod. It makes sense—this is Perry, after all. "He had his—_your_ eyes," he corrects himself and I can't help but smile. Despite knowing both sides of my personality he seems to think of me as two separate people. Or maybe he's just used to referring to me as two different people. He glances at the kindergarten photo of Jason he keeps on his desk briefly as though confirming to himself that Jason really does have my eyes, then up at me. "You weren't there," his voice is almost accusing, not quite.

"No, I wasn't," I agree, maintaining eye contact. He watches me closely for a moment, looking for something I can't quite name. Guilt, maybe? I certainly fell guilty for leaving, without a doubt. "And don't think for a moment that I haven't regretted it every moment since I left," he nods once and then contemplates me again; I return his gaze levelly.

"It's not fair to Richard, you know," he says after a moment, "to have to compete with Superman."

"I was Clark Kent before I was ever Superman," I tell him, my jaw clenching. I can't explain why having people think that Superman is the dominant side of my personality is so offensive. Perhaps it's simply because I'm more Clark Kent than Superman. Perhaps it's because Superman is more of a disguise than Clark Kent is, or at least the Clark Kent people at the _Daily Planet_ know. He's watching me closely again, trying to figure me out; no doubt he's noticed the tension in my jaw. Again, I force myself to relax.

"You and Lois fit together well," he says after sitting back in his chair and gripping his armrests. I raise my eyebrows at him as mine and Lois' compatibility has recently just about ruined his nephew's life.

"What about Richard?"

"Richard," he sighs. "I don't know exactly what was said, and I don't want to. You and Lois, well—the pair of you were together even before you were together. Like I said, you fit. Not that Lois and Richard didn't fit; it's just…" he sighs again. "They didn't fit well enough for it to hold when it counted."

Now it's my turn to contemplate him for a moment. He really does see more than he lets on. He pulls the picture of the three of us out from under the one of just me and slides it across his desk towards me. I don't move, having my own copy framed at home. Or it will be framed soon if Lois has anything to say about it. He looks down at the photo for a moment before speaking again.

"The end of their relationship was a long time coming, you just expedited it," he shrugs.

"Why are we having this conversation?" I ask, not because I'm mad but because I'd honestly like to know why we're talking about this. Perry chuckles, shaking his head.

"Just to—" he gestures with his fingers splayed, I can only assume he means that he's clearing up his point because he doesn't say it in so many words. "You're Superman."

"Yes," I nod once.

"And you're Jason's father."

"Yes."

He nods to himself for a moment, looking at the pictures on the desk. "What the hell are you doing working at the _Daily Planet_?"

I can't help myself: I burst out laughing. It's the good kind of laugh, too—the kind that only comes around every once in awhile, especially in my life. I haven't laughed like this since before I left for Krypton. I laugh for a good minute, Perry chuckling along with me but not really seeing what's so funny.

I take off my glasses and wipe my eyes, still chuckling. Perry's looking at me caught somewhere between amazement and humor. "Goodness, Perry," I say, replacing the thick lenses on my nose and refocusing my vision to look past the prescription. "I would go insane if I didn't have the _Planet_."

"What?" He asks, looking at me like I've already gone insane.

I take a deep breath, not nearly as deep as I could take but deep enough and only manage to laugh again for a moment. "Think about it, Perry," I say. "Flying and seeing through things are just another part of my life. I help when I can where I can, but… I can't help everybody," I look him in the eye again. "I'd go crazy if I tried."

There's a familiar heartbeat quite a distance from where I expected it to be. Lois is down at the docks, pacing. Her heartbeat accelerated; she's either onto a really good story, or she's in danger. Either possibility is perfectly believable, as this _is_ Lois.

"And—what?" Perry asked—my face must've given away my wandering attention. That seems to be happening a lot today.

"Do you have Lois on any assignments that would put her down at the docks?" I ask, even though I know he doesn't.

"No…" he said, shaking his head and giving me a weird look. Instead of just listening now, I look through the tarp covering the hole in the office wall—it's scheduled to be fixed next week—and through the buildings across the road on 'til the docks. Lois is standing at the end of one of the docks pacing back and forth, waiting for something or somebody. I scan the surrounding area and find it empty of any other unusual activity, there's a few black SUVs headed into the warehouse district, a few docks over from where Lois is waiting for whomever she's waiting for.

"Hm," I'm watching one of the SUVs as it pulls away from the rest of them, heading towards the dock Lois is waiting on. There are four people inside the SUV, three men and a woman. Taking a closer look at the woman I recognize Kitty Kowalski, Luthor's girlfriend. I look for the other SUVs, they've circled around to approach the dock Lois is pacing on from different angles. This can't be good. The other SUVs have about three thugs each in them—a few I've seen around Luthor before. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

"What's going on?" Perry asks, glaring at the tarp.

"I'm not sure yet—it can't be good, though," I sigh, getting up, still staring through the tarp and office buildings at the docks, focusing my hearing across as well.

"Why am I here? Why the_ hell_ did I come here? 'You'll want to talk to _me_' my ass," Lois sighs. "I have too many other things going on to be running down to these docks when a shady source gives me a tip… gol, Clark is gonna _kill_ me. Clark, if you're listening… just stay back until I figure this out a little bit. I swear to God, if you swoop down here and make me miss this meeting just because you think I'm gonna get myself shot…"

Now why should I _not_ 'swoop down' there and pull her out if she thinks she might be shot?

I spin into the suit after checking the windows to make sure the blinds are still in place. Nobody's looking our way anyway, everybody too concerned with the quickly approaching deadline. Perry's looking at me with the same look on his face Richard had when I changed into the suit in front of him, I don't have time to comment on it, though. I have to move fast if I want to get over to the docks before the first SUV gets there.

"I'll, uh, be right back," I tell Perry, getting a dumb nod in response.

It seems to take forever to get to the docks, but it's really more like thirty seconds—I didn't want to make a sonic boom as I left the downtown area, so I had to watch my speed.

As per Lois's request, I stay high above, hidden by clouds. She's pacing, her heart racing. Kitty Kowalski and entourage have pulled up now, Kitty the only one getting out of the dark SUV. Lois's heart rate increased slightly upon seeing the tinted windows, but she hid it well.

"Miss Kowalski," she says, disdain dripping from every syllable. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm here only to bring you news, good news for you, I suppose," she sounds sad and that's enough to get Lois interested. I float a few yards lower just to be that much closer in case the worst should come.

"On or off the record?" Lois asks suspiciously.

"On," Kitty replies immediately. Lois raises her eyebrows and pulls a tape recorder out of her purse, making a show of clicking it on and holding it up between the pair of them.

"What do you have to say to me, then, Miss Kowalski?" She sounds polite now, professional.

"Lex Luthor is dead."

Lois drops the tape recorder. It bounces one and then skids off toward the edge of the dock, closer to Kitty than Lois. After a moment of silence (Perry's watch ticking echoes at the edge of my hearing), Kitty takes a step over and picks up the recorder, handing it back to Lois. Lois nods once as she takes it, checking it over for damage before holding it up between them again.

"Can you prove it?"

"I can't produce a body, if that's what you mean," Kitty replies, still sounding sad, but also somehow relieved. "I—um—I have this, if it'll help you believe me," she reaches into her purse and Lois tenses. I drift lower, scanning into her bag and tensing for action.

What I see in the bag has me dropping like a rock for a second before I remember myself and swoop back into the cloud cover. Nobody below noticed a thing, luckily. Kitty has the father crystal in her purse, wrapped in a blue handkerchief. Lois recognizes it—I can tell because she gets it in her hands and then into her own purse as quickly as possible. Lucky no cops are watching or they'd think some illegal crystal swap just took place or something.

The father crystal. I can't believe it. Of all the crystals to save. The luck. I can re-grow the rest of the crystals from that one—re-grow them for Jason. My son will be able to learn the history of the world we are the lone survivors of.

But why did Kitty give it to Lois?

I tune in to what's going on below again.

"There's no way he'd give that stupid crystal up if he were still alive," Kitty informs Lois plainly—Lois seems to have just asked the question I was thinking. Lois narrows her eyes at the other woman. "He guarded that thing like it was his child. Don't ask me why—I couldn't pretend to have had that man figured out," she sounds bitter.

"How did you get off New Krypton?" Lois asks after another pause; her hand is in her purse, fingering the father crystal.

"The helicopter… then we ran out of gas," she smirks, but her eyes are empty. "We were, well, _I_ was picked up by a passing yacht. They were out there doing some illegal dumping or something," she shrugs, not caring. I'll have to remember to scan the surrounding waters for toxic waste cans or something of that nature.

"Why just you?" Lois asks, but she doesn't look like she wants to hear the answer.

"I had something to trade for my passage," Kitty replies, her voice sounding huskier, a hint for Lois to pick up on. Lois looks both disgusted and sympathetic at the same time. "Anyway, they accepted my _payment_ and put a bullet in Lex's brain," she's smirking though she sounds sad at the loss of her boyfriend. How that man must've played with her emotions—I wonder where he found her. Or maybe she found him—she can't be completely innocent if she's talking about bartering her body as though it's an everyday thing, and barely broken up about his murder.

"I see," Lois replies, obviously as out-of-sorts as me. I can't help but smile—it's not just us small-town hicks that are a little disturbed by the aspects of criminal life. "And why are you bringing this to me?"

"I may not be a saint, Miss Lane, but I have morals," Kitty scolds, her eyebrows narrowed beneath her flamboyant hat. "I know this belonged to _him_," she glances up and around as though I'd be stupid enough to fly by. "I have no need for it, besides…" she looks nervous now. "I don't know much about anything, but I know these crystal things kept that ice palace of his running and, y'know, even Superman needs a bit of electricity."

"Oh," Lois responds, obviously thrown. I can't say I'm not.

"Yes, well, and, with your son to think of," Kitty says with a shrug and Lois tenses, every muscle in her body clenched, her hand squeezing the tape recorder almost to the point where I'm sure it'll pop out of her fist or be crushed. I, myself, have drifted lower again—Kitty's continued freedom is dependent on her next few sentences. Kitty seems to have noticed Lois's reaction. "Oh, I didn't mean...! I mean, don't worry! I'm the only one who knows and I don't plan on telling anybody. I'm not _that_ sort of person. I've got all Lex's assets now anyway, so you don't have to worry about me _selling_ the secret," a nervous laugh. Lois doesn't respond, still tense with a death-grip on the tape recorder.

"What will you do, then?" Lois asks, voice as tense as her body.

"Disappear," Kitty replies, thumbing over her shoulder to the black SUV and the thugs inside. "I've the funds to live out the rest of my life far from Metropolis in perfect anonymity with the best protection laundered funds can buy," she gives a smile that eerily reminds me of Luthor.

"What about—" Lois begins, but Kitty cuts her off.

"That'll be all, Miss Lane. Have a nice life."

"Oh," Lois says a moment later as Kitty climbs into the SUV again. Tires screech and it's gone. I glance around the dock area and see that the other SUVs have pulled out as well. Did she seriously send decoy SUVs to the docks? To mislay who? Me? Certainly she'd have enough sense to know that I'd be more interested in keeping Lois safe than tracking down possible threats to empty warehouses.

I drift down to Lois's level. She's pacing again, her hand clenched around the still-recording tape recorder. "God, Clark—where did you come from?" Lois yelps when she turns around to pace back the direction she'd come and runs into my chest. I cant' help but smirk as I take the recorder out of her hands and turn it off.

"Where do you think?" I ask, leaning down for a peck on the lips. If I'd been told three weeks ago that I'd be exchanging a casual kiss with Lois like this with Luthor dead, I wouldn't have believed whoever was telling me. She smirks up at me, staring at the 'S' symbol on my chest distractedly for a moment. "Do you believe her?" I ask, honestly wanting her opinion. It seems almost too good to be true, Luthor dead—the only person who knows Jason's paternity wanting nothing better than to be left alone.

"I think so," she replies after another moment. "I _want_ to anyway."

"Yeah," I agree, looking across the harbor to the open ocean. It seems so clear and calm out there, a strange calm for a place where so much has happened recently: first the growth of an extraterrestrial continent on the sea floor and its removal, then Lois and my little meeting several hundred feet above sea level.

We stand there for a moment, close but comfortable. Or maybe close _and_ comfortable. "She gave me the father crystal, didn't she," Lois says, it's not a question. I nod. "So you'll be able to fix your Fortress?"

"Yes," I say, thinking of all the things I'll be able to do again. I'll be able to educate my son in our history, the history only we share. I'll have a truly quiet place to go and think. I don't know if I'm looking forward to talking to the hologram of my father again or not. His guidelines were the wedge that got stuck between Lois and I last time, and that wedge was what eventually drove me to leave for Krypton. Maybe when I reinsert the crystals I'll limit the interactive capacity for the hologram. My father can teach my son as he taught me, but he won't be able to talk me, or him, out of doing things, _human_ things, that should be done.

"What're you thinking?" Lois asks softly.

"Just thinking about the Fortress," I say, a shrug in my voice without shrugging. She raises an eyebrow for more information. "Things I look forward to being able to do again, things I'm not sure I want to activate again… Jason will be able to learn the history of at least half of where he came from…"

"And that's saying something," Lois chuckles. "I couldn't tell you where _my_ side's from—the General couldn't have cared less about genealogy, and my mother wasn't one to share that sort of thing. I had a wacko aunt who kept charts and stuff on my mom's side—I could probably talk to her kids and see if that's still around," she shrugs. "Your half is the more interesting side anyway."

"And by interesting you mean more inclined to give him trouble," I reply with a grin. She grins back at me.

"Hey, he's a Lane, trouble is implied—hopefully the Kent end will mellow him out."

"Yes, your temper and heat vision…" I say, shaking my head and clicking my tongue in an imitation of my mother when we discovered that power. It had been a hard year so far as temper tantrums went, I was ten—I nearly burned the barn down. My terror at potential disasters prevented the abuse of the power almost as much as my parents' warnings and general disapproval whenever I used it for 'fun.' The noise of my mother's clicking tongue kept me from abusing my unique abilities as well as Pavlov's bell got his dogs salivating. I'm not sure I like that analogy, though.

"Oh, you have no idea," Lois laughs. I just smile—there's probably a few interesting tidbits she could share on the subject of super-powers she'd appreciate, or at least use. It's probably better for me not to ask.

We stand there for another few minutes, then the ticking of Perry's watch bursts into my consciousness and I swear under my breath. "Clark Kent, I expected better of you!" Lois said, falsely affronted, but obviously surprised at me.

"I swear, I'm gonna kill Perry's watch," I sigh, turning to look through the buildings toward the _Daily Planet_, where Perry is pacing his office. He's probably waiting for me, thinking I've gone off to save Lois from some terrible danger. "Oh, shoot—Perry," I feel like slapping myself on the forehead.

"What about him?" Lois asks warily, stepping back from me slightly so that she can see my face better. I look down at her, uncertain how she's going to react.

"He knows."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, apparently, he's known since Jason was born."

"Known what, exactly?"

"Who I am."

"You're serious," she sounds nervous now.

"Yeah, it was weird—there was a meeting this morning, a _really boring_ meeting I might add, and, well, first of all, his new watch is very distracting."

"His watch?"

"Yeah, it's a regular enough watch with gears and everything, but it's _loud_," I scrub a hand over my eyes like I'd wanted so desperately to do throughout that never-ending meeting. "Anyway, I was a little distracted through the meeting. So then he calls me into his office and I'm thinking he's just wondering why I'm so distracted and I'm trying to think of a good excuse. All of a sudden he's talking about secrets and then he just says it and I don't deny it and," I lift my hands helplessly. Lois frowns.

"Well he's obviously not going to be telling anybody if he's kept this to himself since Jason was born," she says thoughtfully. I nod my agreement.

"The number of people knowing my secret has certainly increased since my return," I sigh with a humorless chuckle. She pats my chest consolingly.

"Well, none of us are going to tell anybody."

"I wasn't really that worried," I admit. She just smiles. We stand there listening to the waves (and that infernal watch in my case) for another minute. "I should get back to the bullpen before Perry has a heart attack, though—I left from his office, he thinks you're in mortal peril."

"Well, I think I'm better than I've been in awhile," she smiles up at me, going on her toes for another kiss. I love that. "Take me with you—and by that I mean drop me off a block from work so I can get coffee and come in."

"What? Why?"

"I just got an awesome tip, Clark," she rolls her eyes at me. "C'mon, we've got a story to write—Lex Luthor: Dead, an interview with Kitty Kowalski."

She grabbed my hand and started dragging me back down the dock. Her car is nowhere in sight—apparently she plans to walk to the _Daily Planet_. Rolling my eyes, I take a long step and catch up with her, put my arm around her waist, and take off. A small intake of breath is all the reaction she gives; I suppose she's an old pro at being 'swept off her feet' by now.

I drop her off in an alley a block away from the _Daily Planet_, get another kiss for my troubles, and then speed back into Perry's office. The editor-in-chief is still pacing his office, his watch ticking on and on. His head jerks up at my abrupt arrival, I couldn't help the speed, though, or I'd be seen from the street.

"Well? What's going on?"

"Oh, you know Lois," I reply with a shrug, spinning back into my overlarge brown suit and coffee-stained tie, adjusting my glasses across the bridge of my nose. He raises an eyebrow. "She's fine—got a hell of an interview."

"Really?" He immediately snaps into reporter-mode, worry forgotten. His eyes gleam greedily for the details. Out in the bullpen, people are gossiping about my long stay in the boss's office—some are worried about my job, citing my distraction in the meeting and recent events concerning myself, Lois, and Richard. Apparently they all know Lois and Jason have moved in with me. I'm not sure if I should blame Jimmy for this or thank him. The other most popular suspicion is that I'm getting promoted. Fat chance—it'd be even harder to sneak out if I had an assistant editor's position; none are even open.

"Oh, c'mon, Chief—how're you going to explain to the staff that you knew Lois had a great story before she even makes it into the bullpen?"

"She called your cell phone while you were in here, of course," Perry replies easily, waving a hand as though shooing away my excuses. I smile.

"She's just interviewed Kitty Kowalski."

"Who's that?" Perry asks, obviously searching his memory for the name.

"Lex Luthor's girlfriend," I can't help but grin, this is good news. His face bunches up at the mention of Luthor and my apparent ease with the topic after recent events. "Luthor is dead."

"That's gotta be one helluva interview," he says, grinning broadly, slowly sitting down in his big leather chair that is a symbol of his authority. I grin back at him.

"Is there anything else we needed to talk about, Chief, or should I go finish with that reconstruction story…?" I trail off, gesturing to the door.

"Yeah, er, actually—I just wanted to ask you about your distraction at the meeting today. That's unlike you, especially considering," he shrugs, referencing my alien heritage, I suppose.

"You've got a loud watch, Perry," I tell him, glaring at the thing openly. His eyebrows slowly raise as though he doesn't quite believe what he's hearing.

"I've a what?"

"A loud watch."

"It's new, Alice bought it for me," he says, holding it to his ear. He doesn't seem to be hearing anything, but his ear is blocking off some of the sound from me, which is nice. He moves the watch away from his head and I wince, my hearing having been tuned in that direction and suddenly bombarded by the loud ticking again. "You're serious?"

"I have very good ears," I say, glaring at the watch. He shakes his head.

"That's ridiculous."

"You're telling me," I can't help but chuckle at myself.

Lois interrupts the conversation by bursting into the office, shutting the door quickly behind her as though it were shielding the rest of the office from some highly secret conversation.

"You know, half the bullpen thinks you're being fired," Lois informs me, ignoring Perry's eager look. I nod, surprising Perry.

"Yes, but the other half think I'm getting promoted," I tell her and she chuckles. Perry just shakes his head, seeming to decide it's time to get down to business.

"Alright, Lois: start on the Kowalski piece. Clark: finish what you're working on, then check Lois's spelling," Lois scoffs, but Perry backs up his statement with a commanding stare with which Lois knows better than to argue. I hide a smile behind my hand, but she glares at me. I can't get away with anything anymore.

"Oh, and Clark," he says after I've gotten up, Lois and I standing next to the door, about to open it. We both turn back, listening. "Next time Jimmy needs pictures of your alter-ego, pose."

I laugh—Jimmy is the only photographer in Metropolis who has been able to get anything decent of me since New Krypton. "Get a quieter watch," is all I've got to say to that.

Lois and I leave the office, chuckling. Perry's inside, sitting at his desk, gaping at me. Apparently I'm still not allowed to have enough guts to quip back at him.


	8. Through the Eyes of a Grandmother

I just feel old today. I happen to _be_ old, so that's okay—it's odd the way a body feels old one day and as young as ever the next. Yesterday I was feeling young so I spent half the day in the garden. Perhaps that explains why I feel old today.

Ben's been in and out since we returned from Metropolis just less than a month ago. He was silent the entire plane ride; I didn't know what to say to him.

"So that's why you've got all these pictures on the fridge," he said when we got back to my house. He was standing in front of the fridge, an old thing I bought in the eighties. It's plastered with clips from the paper, mostly the _Daily Planet_ but a few from others as well. There are few articles that Clark has written, those get cycled out regularly, but the most noticeable thing on there is the multitude of pictures of Superman.

It's still strange to think of Clark as Superman. He laughed so hard when he was first named 'Superman,' he came here for my reaction. I didn't find it quite so entertaining. Actually, I was worried he was taking the pseudonym to heart. But he didn't. We must have done something right, Jonathan and I.

And now he has a son of his own. Little Jason. I haven't officially met the boy yet, but Clark has been promising to bring them down sometime soon. I should call him today.

Ben came over for lunch this afternoon, bringing the second biggest cucumber I've seen with him to put on top of our salads. The biggest cucumber I've ever seen was the one he grew a little over ten years ago for the county fair. He won a handful of prizes off of it—I'm not sure what he did with it afterwards, though.

Now we're just sitting here in the living room reading—me the _Daily Planet_, him a science fiction novel as he's partial to. Our peaceful afternoon is interrupted by a hard knock on the front door. We exchange a glance and decide to ignore it. The only people who come around these days are lost travelers, people selling something, evangelists, or neighbors wondering if they can borrow the tractor.

As it is, neither of us have ever been very good at giving directions, we don't have any use for any more stuff, and the tractor has already been loaned out for the day.

"Thank you, we've already accepted Christ and we're very happy with our vacuum cleaner," Ben shouts without even looking up from his book. I knew there was a reason I kept him around—chuckling, I head for the front door only to see it already open a crack, Clark's head poked in up to his eyes.

"Clark!" I say, startled— he usually calls before he comes. "Is everything alright? Why didn't you just come in?"

"You've got company," he replies awkwardly with a shrug and I can't help but scowl at him. He knows this is his home and we _both_ know full well that he could see through the walls and tell that we were just having a quiet afternoon reading. We're too old for anything funny, anyway.

"So? Get in here and give me a hug," I instruct. He smiles and comes into the house, leaving the door open behind him. I get my hug from him before realizing he actually had a reason to leave the door open; Lois and Jason are behind him.

"Hello, Mrs. Kent," Lois says a little self-consciously. I smile; it's good to finally be meeting the pair of them. "I'm sorry for just showing up like this—Clark and I ended up with the afternoon off and thought we should come for a visit. We were going to call, but then it was three o'clock," Clark turns bright red at this point, Lois's eyes darting over to him for a brief second before she plunges ahead. "And Jason gets off of school at three, so we just kind, well, _Clark_ just picked up and left. Picked us up, that is…" she shakes her head. I wonder what has the poor girl so nervous. I glance at Clark—his blush has gone down and now he's chuckling at Lois. Jason is looking between his two parents, not sure whether he should be as nervous as his mother seems to be, or if he should find the situation funny, like his dad.

"Hello, Lois," I say simply, trying not to smile. "It's nice to finally meet you," I can't help but glare at Clark on that note and he has the sense to look sheepish. "And you're Jason?" I ask, turning to the little boy clutching his mother's hand. He nods shyly. "Well, I'm—"

"You're Grandma Martha," he says, looking as sheepish as his father for interrupting, but as though he didn't want me assuming he didn't know who I was.

"That's right," I can't help but smile. He's such the perfect mixture of the pair of them. He's got my boy's eyes, Lois's dark hair, and the beginnings of Clark's wide frame, though he looks small for his age. He tugs on his mom's hand and she leans down to hear whatever secret question he has to ask her.

"Of course you can give her a hug, honey," Lois says, smiling up at me. My own smile widens when he takes a few tentative steps forward. I bend down with my arms out and his steps quicken. Adorable.

"Are you hungry? You must be hungry," I say when his little arms relax. I don't give him the chance to respond, taking him by the hand and leading him into the kitchen. My cookbooks take up the entirety of the bookshelves against the back wall of the kitchen. I hardly use any of them anymore, I know the recipes I like by heart, the same with the recipes Clark likes and the recipes Jonathan liked—Ben isn't a man of habit, he pages through the books after something new to try every time I cook for him.

Jason sits himself down at the worn kitchen table, swinging his legs and watching me as I look over a few bindings for the right book. Finally, I find the old, battered red volume of recipes that have been compiled over the years. Clark gave the book to me for Christmas just after his eighth birthday, the third Christmas he spent with us. Over the years of his childhood, he and I filled it with the best sweets recipes we came across; I continued to add to it even after he left, after Jonathan had died. I didn't have much to do during those long years that he was away—I baked pies, selling them to help pay for the farmhands I had to hire to get work done around the farm. This worn out little book is as full of as many memories as recipes.

I set the thick book down on the table in front of my grandson; he looks up at me curiously. I can't help but smile. "This is a book your dad and I put together over the years," I explain, sitting down next to him and opening the book to its first page. Chocolate chip cookies. The recipe is still splattered with dough from the first time Clark and I made the cookies. That was the only time I let Clark anywhere near my electric blender—Jonathan was never able to eat a chocolate chip cookie again without laughing. Clark added his own preferences to the original recipe in bright red marker, _TWO BAGS_ written in his child's writing in front of 'chocolate chips' instead of the original, much smaller, quantity.

Jason took over, then, flipping through the book with his face scrunched in concentration. Again, adorable.

An hour later, Jason and I are on our second batch of chocolate chip cookies. He looked at every recipe in the book and eventually turned back to the first one, asking if we could really add two bags of chocolate chips to the dough.

Clark and Lois settled in the living room to talk news or politics or something with Ben while Jason and I baked. The first batch of cookies was lost the moment it came out of the oven—Clark came in and pulled them out with his bare hands, making his son beam. A breath of cool wind and the cookies were ready to eat. They were gone in the first five minutes.

So we started again. "Clark, your mother is going to put our son into a sugar coma," Lois commented as she bit into her fifth or sixth cookie. Clark chuckled.

"I'm not sure that's possible," he replied before their discussion resumed with Ben.

Another hour later, the three from the living room had joined us in the kitchen. Jason and I were still waiting on the final sheet of cookies to come out of the oven, drawing together at the table, when I noticed we weren't alone. Ben was paging through a cook book—his habit when he gets hungry—while Lois and Clark riffled through the fridge. Clark already had a few things out, adding things Lois handed him to a pan on the stovetop.

"Honey, what're you making? Let me cook—" she tried to insist, but Clark held up a hand, waving me off. I scowl at him.

"Spinach manicotti," Clark said, making the pan sizzle as he sautéed onions, celery, garlic, basil, thyme and oregano in oil. A delectable scent wafted from the pan, covering the smell of chocolate chip cookies. The two smells didn't blend well—Lois opened a window. "It's easy, Mom, finish your drawing," he smirked at the drawing I've been working on with Jason—he'd drawn Superman high in the sky over the Kansas farmland I added.

"I don't know if we have any spinach," I say, getting up to check the produce drawer.

"The recipe calls for frozen spinach," Lois says, pointing to the freezer.

"I certainly don't have any _frozen spinach_," I say, almost huff. Clark and Lois both chuckle at my distaste.

"I'll get some—we'll need tofu as well."

"_Tofu_," I snarl; _never_ has there been tofu in my house. Disgusting hybridized soy squares of mushiness, in my opinion. That's right, I tried tofu. Clark mentioned it in an email—that's right, I have email—before he left for Krypton. Apparently it was all the rage in the city. So I tried it to see if it was any good. It wasn't. I don't know how city slickers can eat that stuff. Now Clark's eating it? I'll grudge him an iron stomach; he can swallow a bomb without so much as indigestion, after all.

"I promise, you can hardly taste it," Clark assures me before turning back to his pan and adding tomato puree and water mixture just handed to him by Lois. They make a good pair, I'll give them that.

"The only reason you won't let me cook is because I would never put _tofu_ in _anything_."

"Just wait and taste it," he continues to insist. I sigh and go back to the drawing Jason and I have been working on. Jason is adding clouds around the flying image of his father.

An hour and a half later, the five of us are sitting down to steaming plates of this spinach manicotti stuff. Ben gives the blessing and then we eat. I will admit, it's quite good. Especially for tofu.

"How long have you been a vegetarian, Lois?" Ben asks. This is when I realize there's no meat in the dish at all. I can't say I would've noticed if Ben hadn't pointed it out. I raise an eyebrow at Lois, interested.

"Four years," she replies as Clark leans over to help Jason cut his dinner into manageable pieces.

"Four years," Ben repeats, shaking his head. "I don't think I'd survive without meat for a month."

"You'd be surprised what you can survive without when you're put in the situation," Lois said with an easy shrug that belied the weight of the statement. She sealed it with a glance at Clark as he helped Jason with his manicotti.

Clark met Lois's eyes briefly, apologetic. Lois seems to regret having said it, though. "Or survive with," I put in, gesturing to the tofu substance on my plate. "This is very good, Clark."

"Thanks," he says simply. We all go back to our dinners. I'm not lying—this spinach manicotti stuff is quite good. If it didn't mean going to the store and buying _tofu _and _frozen _spinach, I'd ask Clark for the recipe.

"Would you like the recipe?" Lois asks, right on cue. I chuckle.

"Well, having this recipe would mean potentially going to the grocery store and buying tofu and frozen spinach," I shake my head. "I would have to drive forty miles to get to a grocer that I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen buying such things."

They all chuckle appreciatively, Jason looking confused but laughing as well. The poor boy is spending his childhood among adults; I wonder if he has any friends his own age. And I don't mean just in school. Boys are supposed to have other boys their age to run around the house with and break things. Even Clark had little buddies to run around the farm with—Pete Ross, for instance. Those two were like peas and carrots for the longest time. I know it was hard for Clark with his powers, always having to hold back; Pete was always goofing off, pretending he could fly when lying across the tire-swing, things like that. Of course, Clark couldn't fly yet back then, but he did levitate in his sleep occasionally.

"So, Jason, how's school going for you this year?" I ask to get everybody talking again, and because I honestly want to know.

"Good," Jason smiles like he means it. "We only have a few weeks left; my teacher, her name's Miss Welches, like the juice, she says that we're going to make paper-ring-chains on Tuesday so that we can count down 'til the end of school. Me an' my friend Jess, an' my friend Billy are gonna make ours blue, yellow, and red. I get red, Billy gets blue, and Jess gets yellow."

"Why blue, red, and yellow?"

"Cuz those are Superman colors," Jason visibly forces himself not to roll his eyes. His parents chuckle lightly, exchanging a glance. I wonder how Jason reacted when he was first told Superman was his father. I wouldn't mind having been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

"Of course," I say. "How silly of me."

"Anyway—" he launches into a long tale about his friends at school. Jess, Jessica, apparently has parents who are divorced, living with her mom in the city during the school year and spending summers on her father's horse ranch in Connecticut. Billy's mom died when he was born so he just lives with his dad a few blocks away from the apartment building Lois, Clark, and Jason live in—the boys spend a good deal of time together. It's probably a good thing that his two closest friends have _interesting_ family situations. When they reach the bitter teen years they'll have people to commiserate and complain with.

Ben goes back to his farm an hour after lunch to make sure none of the hired hands have messed anything up. I think he just wanted to give me some time alone with my son and his family, which I appreciate. Jason follows him out, Shelby on his heels; the two are still out in the yard playing fetch, Shelby glad to have a companion who doesn't throw the ball clear to Illinois when not paying attention. Clark seems to be thinking along the same lines as he has a ghost of a smile on his face from it. I smile back at him and then we join Lois in the living room.

"So how are things in Metropolis?" I ask, having missed out on that part of the conversation when I was making cookies with my grandson. _My grandson_. I'll never get tired of that thought.

"Swell," Lois says, poking Clark's shoulder before sitting down next to him on the couch. I chuckle as well, sitting in my ages old rocking chair but not rocking, it squeaks horribly when I rock.

"Everything is just fine in Metropolis," Clark replies, acting as though he hadn't heard Lois or the chuckles that followed. "Gang violence is down from just after New Krypton, almost everything that was damaged in the quake has been fixed up again."

"Perry finally got a new window in his office," Lois says, chuckling again. "He threw a party in his backyard and burned the tarp that had been covering the hole."

"Jason wanted to have a similar party when the hole in our living room wall was fixed, but…" Clark trailed off, shrugging with a smile on his face.

"Everything is settling back to old routines," Lois observed, shifting so that she was closer to Clark on the couch, knee to knee, hip to hip, Clark's arm around her shoulders. They look comfortable like that.

"Any more news on that Kitty Kowalski character?" I ask after a moment, remembering the article Lois wrote just under a month ago.

"Not officially," Lois says with an odd gleam in her eye. I raise an eyebrow.

"She's 'disappeared' into Maine, close to the Canadian border, with the majority of Lex's assets. She's kept to her word so far, not making any trouble while she lives the high life. I think she's told her neighbors she's a widow who just couldn't stand to live in her husband's mansion anymore and had to get away."

"She's got a new Pomeranian and lobster for dinner every night," Lois adds, shaking her head.

"Were you able to fix your Fortress, then?" I ask. Clark nods.

"I regrew the crystals, added some security," Lois chuckles. "I haven't been north since, though—there're more interesting things to do these days than talk to the AI."

Lois looks kind of smug and I can't help but be glad that Clark isn't living his life based on what the computer designed by his biological father tells him to do. First of all, Jor-El was from a different planet, no matter how you look at it. I'd never say it to Clark, but I think there are people whose opinions should matter more to him than a computer program's, the AI's, whatever. It looks like Lois might've voiced those thoughts to him.

"So Jason will have access to the Kryptonian information when he comes of age, then," I observe.

"He will," Clark agrees. It looks like how much of that information Jason will be viewing is still up in the air between them. I don't know Lois well enough to guess at her opinion on the alien technology in the Antarctic, but the tension of the topic between them would suggest she's not too fond of it.

- - -

The three of them leave late in the evening, Jason asleep on Clark's shoulder. It was so adorable I had to make them wait an extra twenty minutes so I could find my old—Clark called it an antique—camera. We took pictures of Clark with this camera and it still works, I don't intend to get rid of it anytime soon. Now I just have to find things to fill the rest of this roll of film with so I can get a print of that first picture…

I was surprised that Clark didn't once leave this afternoon, it's a rare visit when he doesn't have to pop out for a half hour to save somebody around the world in some country I can't pronounce let alone locate on a map.

I make myself a cup of tea and sit down to watch the news. Superman just put out a large fire raging in downtown Metropolis. There was a time when seeing my boy do things like that on TV would have me in a panic, wondering if he was alright, calling his phone at the _Daily Planet_ and then his apartment if he didn't pick up. I bet it helped his image around the office as a momma's boy hick, but I was honestly worried about him. He, of course, was always fine.

He seems to be doing just fine now, too. I was worried about him right after he came back—he told me about Richard White and his relationship with Lois Lane. Then there was that whole New Krypton thing. Like many times in years past, I was packed and ready to fly to Metropolis the moment I heard the news. Ben came over right then, though, and I waited until I was really sure there was something wrong before dragging him to Metropolis to stand in front of Met. General with what seemed like half the population of Metropolis. He was alright, though. I guess I didn't have anything to worry about with that Richard White either; Clark told me they still see Mr. White every now and again, that he takes Jason some weekends, but for the most part he's overseas in the field. As long as everybody's happy. Of course, I would be happy so long as my boy and his boy were happy even if Mr. White were completely miserable, I shouldn't tell Clark that, though.

I sit back, sinking into the couch comfortably. The news has moved on from the latest Superman rescue to things more local. And by local I mean they switched off the national feed and Joann down at Smallville Media is telling us about goings on in Topeka.

Well, Clark got his girl and the world didn't stop spinning, nor are pigs flying, but I allowed tofu in my house so hell might've frozen over. I think we're going to be just fine.


End file.
